


and then i wake up...

by FullMetamorphosis, skydork (klismaphilia)



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM Scene, Bipolar Disorder, Blushing, Crying, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominatrix, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, German accent, Ice Cream, Idiots in Love, Injustice, Lots of blushing, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nudity, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Violence, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Roommates, Rope Harnesses, Sexual Violence, Shibari, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Subdrop, Subspace, Suspension Bondage, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, We Just Love Each Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 63,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetamorphosis/pseuds/FullMetamorphosis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miroslav Ivanov was hoping this would be a relatively painless year. But deciding to get a flat with five other people a month before semester started was probably not the best way to start off- let alone when he falls into a sort of (really) great BDSM relationship with his roommate.</p><p>The other roommates aren't bad either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. newcomer

**Author's Note:**

> finally getting around to posting my work with TJ !!!! - klisma
> 
> in other words, this is that thing we just started writing and i love original work so. yeah. ^///^

He’s probably made a giant mistake. After all, the first call he’d made about rooming with them, he’d heard giggling in the background and sounds that seemed suspiciously like a party was going on - and then there was the fact that “there are lots of roommates here . . . depending on the time”. It didn’t make a ton of sense, but hell, they weren’t asking for much, really. A hundred a month plus expenses?  _ Happens when there are ‘lots of roommates’ I guess _ is all he can chalk it up to, because from what he heard, it was a good space, very well-kept, and - coincidentally - needed another boarder  _ immediately _ .

 

So he accepted the place on the spot. What? It wasn’t like he had much to move in. Just a bunch of psychology textbooks and some climbing gear, plus computer and all. How much room could he possibly need?

 

Miroslav’s still unsure, though, once he reaches the 22nd floor of the apartment building and steps out of the elevator to a single little room, and a locked door.  _ No wonder _ , he thinks - the apartment must’ve been the size of the goddamn building. Still, he checks his watch again.  _ Right on time _ , he thinks, and then he looks at the door and gauges it, gripping the suitcase behind him a little more tightly in his one hand.

 

He takes a deep breath. And, carefully, he forces his hand forward and gives a hearty knock on the door.

 

_ -shit, I’m going to get eaten alive, the hell am I doing _ -

 

The door swings open almost immediately, aside from the noise of something falling, a shout of “fuck!” that resounds a bit too loudly in the hallway, and the crash of the vase that’s on the shelf right behind the door hitting the ground. It’s enough to startle the newcomer, who jumps back the second one of his new ‘roommates’ opens the door.

 

Blake isn’t quite sure how awful he looks, he just knows that his shirt is torn and his glasses are halfway off his face, setting crookedly over his nose, black hair pulled every which way as he gives a tiny laugh, watching Miroslav intently for a few moments. The younger man looks… confused, almost uncertain, like he’s scared of speaking? (That wasn’t a surprise- most of them were the first few days. Like Kamari. Who may have been more sullen than nervous, but hey. He left anyway.)

 

“Uh… h-hey!” The twenty-five year old fiddles with his sleeves of his long shirt, glancing over Miroslav a couple times to try and gage a reaction. He looks startled- it’s cute, really.  _ Amusing.  _ Makes Blake wonder how he looks during sex- not that  _ they  _ were going to be having sex, per se…  _ I’m such a fucking pervert. Jesus Christ. _

 

“Sorry, uh… M-Miroslav, yeah? Come in?” He gives his best attempt at a smile, certain it looks far more stupid on his face than he would’ve liked, scratching his head before half tugging Miroslav inside, hand around his wrist tightly. “Okay, okay, okay… yeah. We’re all r-really uh… happy? To have you here. Just a warning, things do tend to get a little weird. You saw the post, right? I-I’m… I do poetry about bondage and shit. Weird, I know… Sylvain helps out. The shibari thing? He said he put it in the post, fuck… yeah, anyway.” He grabs Miroslav’s stuff out of his arms, setting it down in a large armchair, before turning around to him, half-mumbling to himself in rambles. Blake pauses, meeting Miroslav’s eyes, before pulling away again. “Anyway, yeah… I can help you out if you’d like. Getting settled and all. Not sure if Syl’s home yet. Alex and ‘cacia aren’t… Anakin is… well, yeah. Just… sit down for now? I can make you tea if you want- anything, really.”

 

“Um-” he stops and tries to digest all of what the man was saying. Something about . . . people and poetry and- “Oh! Yeah, if you have it, I’d take a green tea. Been - uh - travelling, all day. Train isn’t super comfortable and it’s a decent ride from here to there, and . . . erm, yeah,” he looks to the side and brushes the hair out of his face as he sits. “I d-do remember the poetry thing. You’d be- yeah. Blake, right? I remember, we talked on the phone, I think. Shibari, huh? That’s some eclectic taste, huh?”

 

The actual place lives up to the photos; large living room adorned with leather couches, an open layout with the kitchen, a hallway leading into the back where he assumed everything else was going to be. There were a few things lying around, mostly notes and stuff like that . . . wait, was that a leather flogger in the corner or something?  _ Eclectic indeed _ , he thinks as he looks back to the kitchen, where Blake seems to be nervously making tea.

 

“The place looks good,” he says. “I sort of figured a few of you were in college too, right? I’m in my last year - twenty-three as of March. Majoring in Psych. No job yet, but I can pay the first few months of rent ahead, if you’d like. So then, there are . . . four others? Six people in one flat?” he gives a low whistle. “Must be an expensive place.”

 

“Yeah, yeah… mainly a mix of… s-similar tastes, I guess. We made it work. There are usually two to a room, but… well, actually, nevermind. Math was never my strong suit. Yeah. You’re bunking with Sylvain- it’s the room at the end of the hall. He’s the oldest of us- twenty seven as of a month ago. We… I dunno, man. Just lucky to get another roomie, y’know?” An awkward laugh as the man attempted to pick up the tea kettle, before he half dropped it on the counter.

 

“Shit!” Blake pressed his thumb into his mouth, as though it could somehow cool the droplets of scorching water, before quickly grabbing the tap and flipping it on. “Uh… yeah, anyway. Alexei and Acacia and Anakin are all closer to your age. I’m second… second oldest as of now. Twenty five? Oh, yeah, and I’m a teacher. Well, assistant teacher- art. Middle school. That shit. Rent’s fine when you can get it in- no later than five weeks from today though.”

 

There was another short pause as he scrambled to turn the timer on, pulling the glasses away from his face so he could rub at his eyes in exhaustion. “Shit, man,” Blake cursed again. “‘S getting late. Was really hoping I could finish my piece tonight. And… well, tomorrow I’ll be gone early. Sylvain’ll teach you some ground rules and shit… are you used to this sort of thing? The whole… dominance and submission thing? It won’t be too bad, just gotta get used to it… you do your part and we won’t fuck this up. Alright.” 

 

The timer beeped, as his fingers grabbed for the teabag, holding it in a pinch before dropping it in the trashbin and sitting the cup down on the counter. “And this is for you, friend. Anything else you wanna know? Or… want us to know?” 

 

Wow. He was . . . honest, then. Miroslav had his suspicions before, but this was definitely an explanation. He bites his lower lip and teases it a little bit, before finally saying, “I guess not? Honestly, I’m just glad you guys were offering. I was sort of on my last break; most apartments are full up by this point, and semester starts in a week,” he sighs. “So, um . . . you guys are all into the BDSM thing? I know the basics, but I guess I haven’t explored much of that stuff since I was a teenager.”

 

“Yeah, almost all of us are pretty into it- don’t worry, we’re really aftercare heavy. If anything happens, you can talk to me- it’ll take awhile for Alexei to warm up to you and Acacia’s always a little too blunt. Don’t even get me started with Ana- he’s a total wild card. Usually spends most of his time  _ trying  _ to fuck with people. Sylvain’s reasonable… so he’d be a second choice. But, uh… I started this sort of thingamajig that’s going on here, sooo…” he flicked his tongue over his lips, letting the tiny piercing in his tongue tease over the rough skin. “It’s not gonna take long to get used to. You’ll be fine… can I ask you a personal question?”

 

“‘Second choice’?” he asks. Blake doesn’t seem too keen on answering immediately, it seems. And while he’s heard the names . . . well, he hasn’t seen the faces yet.  _ Five roommates. This is going to get some used to _ . “Well, hopefully I won’t bring too much trouble. What do you want to know?”

 

“Awkward…” Blake started, twiddling his thumbs against each other. “Are you more of a dom or a sub? Just so I can try and match you.”

 

“Match . . .?” it takes him a moment to register. And then, of course, it clicks, and he thinks he’s going to turn red. He sits up straighter and raises his hands, shaking his head. “Uhh, no need to pair me, I j-just need a place to stay! Uh . . . b-besides that, I guess I don’t know? I’ve always been more active with my past relationships, but those were all with girls, and I haven’t done a ton of this before . . .”

 

“That’s fine, we’ll work on that… for now, though, I hope you don’t mi- oh! You are here.” There was a sudden note of happiness in the older man’s voice, looking up to a much taller and more well built man with a soft smile, before giving a tiny nod of his head toward Miroslav. “This is Miro- er, Miroslav. Can I call you Miro? It’s kinda a mouthful. Anyway, Miroslav, this is Sylvain. Your roomie. Aaand this is where I take my leave. Have to run out anyway.”

 

Blake nods once to Sylvain, gathering his wallet, jacket and hat, before making his way toward the door. “Take good care of him, man. He’s cute.”

 

And then the door was swinging shut and the recently arrived Sylvain took a seat on the couch, facing Miroslav, his tanned skin still slightly covered in sweat from the long run he’d taken only a short while earlier. Undoing the top couple of buttons to his shirt, he gave a nod to the younger man, a short, “Hey,” leaving his lips as he slumped back on the seat.

 

There was no response, other than a slight redness in Miroslav’s cheeks. “Uh… that’s really cute and all, but… you can talk now. I’m not going to bite your head off or anything.” A chuckle. “Damn, though- you’re a lot better in the flesh than in that picture you sent Blake after you took up the offer. Honestly, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive. So hard to find people as lovely as you… would look great in one of my paintings.” He looked up to the counter again, eying the tea. “Were you going to drink that, or can I have it?”

 

Another bout of silence. “So, tell me about yourself, Miroslav?”

 

Tell him. About. Himse- he’s not sure he  _ can _ . Actually, Miroslav’s not sure that he’s just been drugged and sent to heaven, because  _ fuck _ , he- this- Sylvain, that was his name, he’s fucking  _ gorgeous _ . Dark mane of hair and dark eyes and sweat across his bare . . . bare, toned arms . . . Jesus, he’s going to die. And then he’s going to go to hell, probably because he’s having some of the filthiest thoughts he’s ever had.

 

It’s only when Sylvain reaches for his tea that he seems to snap back into it, leaning down and pulling his tea towards him despite the slosh of tea that goes on the counter and partially on his hands. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he curses under his breath as he pulls back and presses his fingers to his mouth. “Um- yes. Hi. Uh . . . j-just a psych major at the local uni. Needed a place to stay and, well, looking for an apartment the month before school starts was not my smartest idea . . .” he takes a deep breath. He manages to grab his cup of tea again and just hold it, as if it would still his shaking hands. “S-Sylvain, right? Blake said you were- twenty-eight, right? Something about r-rooming. Um . . . sorry,” he reaches up and presses his fingers to his temple. “I’ve been traveling all day and I’m sort of exhausted. Tried to take- uh- sleeping pills, on the train. Never kicked in. So I’m a little . . . o-out of it.”

 

“Twenty seven,” Sylvain muses, softly, an eyebrow raising as the tea sloshes over Miroslav’s thumb from how quickly he’d grabbed it, watching the younger man pull back as he continued to stare at him with an expression almost full of awe. Giving a low hum, he said, “I could make you some sleepy time tea if you wanted. Pitch in a melatonin or two. You’d feel more relaxed, I think.” He turns away to look up at the clock. “Let’s see… already almost seven. It’d be good for you to get some sleep. I know how hard uni is, kid.”

 

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, reaching for the pack of cigarettes left there before fishing a lighter out of his pocket. “Think Blake talked to you too much. You sound a little like he does. Ramble-y, kind of, the little cracks…” a pause. “It’s okay, Miroslav. You should really try and rest up though. I can go over ground rules with you tomorrow- things you need to know, being new and all. It’ll have to wait till morning. Want me to take your stuff to our room?”

 

“Uh- I-I can do it,” he says carefully. He’s not sure how to feel - Sylvain seems almost distant, trying to be civil, but almost trying to keep things more . . . muted, calm. He almost has to wonder if he’d made a mistake, but then he sees the trembling in his hands as he lights the cigarette, carefully bringing the little flame to life, and Miroslav shakes at the notion that Sylvain might be trying to-  _ restrain _ himself. Maybe trying not to say anything more, considering how nervous he already feels.

 

Still, though, he’s . . . attractive. And the way he speaks and the way he holds his body helps that, makes him seem all the more alluring. Miroslav’s not sure he’s ever been so attracted to a guy before. A few, when he was younger, but he’d hadn’t played around much, except with girls. And now he’s sitting in front of- well, who knew. A sadist. Dominant. Something like that.

 

For some reason, just thinking about it - and then his eyes catching the flogger in the corner of the room - just makes him blush a little more.  _ Great _ . So much for any poker face here.

 

Miroslav tries to push himself to his feet and grab his bag - pretty lightweight, at least - and he’s taking one step towards the hallway before the lightness is settling in his head. He shakes as he catches himself halfway in falling, head reeling,  _ shit, did I even eat anything, too freaking nervous to eat anything past breakfast _ -

 

“Hey,” Sylvain said, reaching forward to steady a hand on Miroslav’s shoulder, pulling him back so the younger’s shoulders were almost resting on his chest. His fingers found the strap of the suitcase, quickly hefting it up and letting a hand rest around Miroslav’s waist as he pulled him down the hallway quickly, flicking on a light in the far room.

 

“Your bed’s made and everything. We can work out the other stuff tomorrow,” he set the bag down next to the nightstand, before helping Miroslav sit down on the edge of the bed, walking back to the door. “I’ll be back in after a few- really need some water or something. Pretty tired, bit dehydrated… you know what the humidity does to you. Just hang out here- lie down. I can bring you something if you need it.”

 

“I’m fine-” he forces out, though he’s not entirely sure that’s the case. He’s not coming down from the medication as easily as he thought he would be - even if he’d only tried it once or twice so far, he hadn’t expected that it’d be like this, what with the . . . nerves and everything. And the lack of food just makes the room sway even more, and it takes him a moment to notice that Sylvain had disappeared before he’s collapsing on his side against the bed.

 

“ _ God _ ,” he mumbles. What a freaking whirlwind. What a goddamn mess. What a- he doesn’t even have the words. All he knows is that he’s tired, and hungry, and that this all started so quickly. He hadn’t even explained anything to his parents or his siblings, just said that “it’s fine” and “rent’s cheap”. Hell, he hadn’t even told his brother about it, and he was the most likely of all of them to sort of understand.

 

Still, though . . . his head’s caught on everything, the trainride and meeting the two of them and all, and when he thinks about it, he hasn’t slept in ages.  _ Of all the things I regret, a train ride at three in the mornings is the one I regret the most _ .

 

Miroslav sighs and presses his face against the comforters. At least it doesn’t smell . . . which only makes him wonder  _ the hell was I expecting? _ Before he figures he was assuming the obvious. He shuts his eyes and sighs a little as he hears . . . him. Sylvain. Coming in, and then Miroslav tries to sit up to try and preserve his dignity, and . . . well, that ain’t happening.

 

He sets the new cup of tea beside the bed, along with a couple of tiny, white pills, looking down at Miroslav, whose eyes seemed too tired to be open. He could see how bloodshot they were, rimmed with dark circles, a worried feeling invading his gaze. “Hey, come on. Just try and sleep, alright, kid?” Sylvain’s hand tugs the blankets back, trying to help Miroslav lie down, though the younger keeps pushing against his hands, trying to keep himself up- clearly not relaxing at all.

 

A sigh. “Lie down, take the pills, drink the tea. Both natural sleep aids, nothing that’ll hurt you. I can turn some music on if you think it’ll keep you calm. Gonna be up a little while to finish this paper, but then I’m heading off too. You going to be alright?”

 

_ Nothing that will hurt you _ , he said. As tempted as he is to believe him - and really, it shouldn’t be a huge concern - but Miroslav’s gut just clenches up, and all he can think is  _ I am not starting this off by getting drugged _ . It’s stupid, he knows, but he at least lets Sylvain convince him to lie down, at least relax a little bit before pressing his face into the pillow and curling up with the comforter laid overtop him.

 

Sylvain strokes back the man’s hair briefly, looking over him with a somewhat easy expression, before just smiling. “Get some sleep. In the morning we’ll talk. Night.”

* * *

 

He’s not sure how long he’s slept, at first. All he knows is that he’s splayed out under the covers, still clinging to the comforter over his shoulders, and he feels a hell of a ton better than he did before. Then he’s rolling over and noticing the clock on the bedside table with wide eyes.  _ Noon _ , he thinks, and he thinks of just getting up and getting dressed decently and grabbing a shower or something, but- no. He’s content to lie there, for a few minutes, keeping his eyes closed and taking a deep breath as he thinks about what’s going to happen now.

 

_ No going back _ , he thinks, and eventually he manages to get up.

 

He can’t miss the door on the back of the door - a white post-it note saying, simply,  _ I’m in the studio _ . He bites his lip and tries to think of where it was . . .  _ oh, right. It’s at the end of the hall _ , he thinks, recalling the pictures of the flat from the advertisement, and he sighs as he opens the door into the hallway-

 

Only to have the door across the hall swing open, too.

 

He stops and pulls back a little, almost the same time as the woman- man? - across from him does. It’s strange, he thinks; he can’t decide who they are, between the scars on their face and arms and the white undershirt that seemed to be pressing their chest down. Their eyes go wide as they see him, at least, a vibrant green . . . and then they’re stepping back, carefully, and closing the door again.

 

Strange. Very . . . strange.  _ So which one was that? The one who’d take a while to get used to this? . . . fuck it all, there are three people with similar names _ , he thinks with a groan as he finally slips out of the room and down to the end of the hall.

 

It isn’t hard to guess which door opens into the studio; it’s covered in paint flecks, and has a clear  _ Do not Enter _ sign on it, though he supposes that’d be for more . . . roleplay or something. Still, he at least has the right mind to knock on the door and wait for a response.  _ All I hope is that this isn’t going to lead to something creepy _ , he thinks.  _ And that there’s food. Jesus, when did I last eat? _

 

Sylvain’s almost been anticipating the knock on the door, swinging it open almost as soon as the small pattern of hits came, looking over Miroslav through the small crack before offering a smile and giving him room to step inside. The canvas is still half bare, what’s actually covered done in a mirage of reds, golds and silvers that are more pleasing to the eye than Blake’s knots probably are, only making the man shake his head, before gesturing for Miroslav to take a seat across from him.

 

“Wanted to go over some rules with you,” Sylvain says, ignoring the annoyed groan of his currently suspended roommate, blindfold still covering his eyes though his mouth was left free, a number of greyscale tattoos visible on his naked body, almost everywhere along it. Sylvain tries to keep Miroslav’s attention on him, giving a soft sigh, before saying, “I’d just wanted to let you know the house boundaries. The only rooms available to you are our room, the bathroom, the kitchen and the living room. Alexei and Acacia’s room is off limits, as is Anakin’s and Blake’s. The study is off limits. My studio- this room- is off limits unless I specify that you can come in here. Any entry into a place we don’t want you going in will result in punishment, as we’ve made clear in our first couple of conversations.” 

 

There was a steady pause, as Sylvain glanced to the open door and out into the hallway briefly, before shaking his head. “It’s nothing. We’ll go over the rest at a later time, but for now, I want you to have these.” He extends a sheet of green, red and yellow stickers to Miroslav, jerking his head back into the hallway. “There’s a journal in our room. You’ll use that to keep track of your punishments, alright? The only way you’ll get punished is if you go in any of the specified rooms or don’t do your chores. For now, we have you on laundry, which hopefully isn’t too much of a problem. Use a green sticker for every day you do something correctly. Yellow is for minor infractions, while red is for larger infractions. It won’t be too hard, really- you’ll want to go over it with Acacia so we can set up the punishments and rewards you’re comfortable with. For now-”

 

“Hey!” There was a short shout, the voice somewhat hoarse as the suspended figure struggled in his bonds, trying to get Miroslav’s attention. “Is it the pretty new guy? Fuck, Syl, couldn’t at least let me see him?”

 

“You’ve been very disobedient,” was the only sentence that left the older man’s mouth, looking over to Anakin unamused. “Wish you had an off switch. Been too chatty.”

 

“I  _ do  _ have an off switch, Sylvain. You just need to find it. I’ll give you a hint- it’s in my ass. Or is that the  _ on  _ switch?” There was a muffled curse as the rope tightened around his wrist. “Mother _ fucker-!” _

 

“You can talk to Miroslav when you decide to quit being a brat,” Sylvain added, standing up to walk over to the tattooed man, a hand brushing through his bright red locks quickly, before glancing at his face. “You need to quit changing your expression.”

 

“Expression? Please,” was quipped back, almost irritated. “Sylvain… your name even makes you sound like a narcissist. Syl- _ vain.  _ I mean, it works- you’re already pretty infatuated with yourself. Not as infatuated as you are with  _ me,  _ but that’s hard to beat.” The older of the two jerked Anakin’s hair roughly, causing him to give a short whimper. “Nn… s-sir?”

 

Sylvain’s hand tugged the blindfold off quickly, letting the ginger blink a bit before his eyes settled on Miroslav. 

 

“I’ve never really been a fan of introductions unless it involves getting someone’s dick in my mouth. Something tells me you’re more of a catcher though.” There was a laugh. “Hey, you wanna try finding my  _ switch?  _ Maybe you’ll have more luck than Sylvain. I promise, I won’t bite- unless you want me to.”

 

He’s trying to think. Trying to remind himself, at least, and trying not to forget everything. It still seems a bit ludicrous -  _ punishments? Journals? These guys are into lifestyle stuff, huh? _ Before reminding himself that this is sort of what he signed up for. He sighs a little;  _ the price of a cheap living space - and of procrastinating on getting a place _ , he thinks, but he’s not even sure he minds, anyways. He’s unlikely to slip up (living with two siblings and stricter parents meant he was always on-point with tasks), and even if he did, what was the worst that could happen? He could take a few licks or whatever. And anyway, it might be fun. He’s still not sure.

 

But even when he’s trying to think of that - the guy, Anakin, is  _ still talking _ . It’s nice to know his name now - helps him narrow down who the person before was, probably that Acacia or Alexei - but even still, it sounds like he’s never going to shut up. Miroslav feels like he’d want to get a closer look, too - the rigging looked appealing even from the brief glimpse he got of it before - but something tells him giving the man attention was just asking for trouble.

 

He sighs, and looks down at his shirt. Long-sleeved; granted, he’d been on a train with it, and slept in it the previous night, but . . . well, he’s not entirely sure he’d object, right?

 

Miroslav’s getting up, then, and pulling off his shirt with a sigh. It’s nice to free his skin to the air at least, even if he thinks he looks rather pale . . . and then he’s rolling up his shirt and carefully approaching the suspended man, who keeps looking over him suspiciously.

 

“God, the way you’re looking at me- it’s like love at first sight. I think I’m definitely touching myself tonight.”

 

He doesn’t bother responding. He just gives him an even look as he carefully reaches up and slings his wound-up shirt around the back of his head, trying not to betray an ounce of emotion. He watches Anakin’s eyes go wide.

 

“The fuck are y-”

 

And then he’s reaching around with the sleeves and cutting Anakin off, tying it just tight enough around his mouth and leaving a knot big enough to fit in Anakin’s mouth. The other looks almost . . . angry. It’s almost satisfying to hear his muffled complaints, quieted so much more so from before, and Miroslav just steps back with a relieved sigh as he rubs his temples at the new silence.

 

He shrugs, and finally looks up at Sylvain.

 

“I don’t know what image you were going for, but I haven’t eaten in more than a day and he was beginning to freak me out. I guess it’s not the same as a ball gag, but this is something you guys do, right?”

 

Sylvain gave a wry chuckle, shaking his head before turning around, stretching his arms out in the air with a heavy breath, before going silent. He tapped a finger against his chin, looking back up at the redhead before glancing over to Miroslav, shaking his head. “That, Miroslav, is something to take pride in. A ball gag would be better, though. If you could find one later- check under my bed- you can bring it back here. I don’t mind.”

 

Walking back to the easel, he glanced over the painting with quick motions, trying to see if there was anything he could fix about the upper portion. The mouth hadn’t come out right the first time- mostly because of all the talking. Miroslav was probably right, in the end.

 

“Miroslav, if you do decide to be my submissive, I am  _ begging  _ you, don’t be a brat. They’re not fun to deal with.” He rolled his sleeves back up, a soft sigh emanating before adding, “You got an eye for art, by any chance?”

 

“None. You’d want my sister for this sort of thing,” Miroslav says as he sits down next to Sylvain on the hardwood floor. “She always has an eye for art stuff like this, but it’s just not my thing. All I have is a decent voice,” he stops, and looks back up at Sylvain. “Wait, you mean full-time or something? I mean . . .” he stops, and looks him over. And then, of course, his nerves take hold and he looks away. “I’m hoping not to screw up THAT much, but I d-do not have much of a preference in terms of that. Except Anakin - something tells me it’d suck to deal with him. Still, I can’t make promis-”

 

There’s a harsh knock at the door, and Miroslav nearly jumps when the door swings open out of nowhere - revealing the person from before. They’re at least more dressed, a dark tank top thrown over their undershirt and a loose pair of jeans hanging from their hips, but . . . “Sylvain,” they say, their voice harsh and almost shaking to his ears. “I’m running to the gym, and then I’m grabbing groceries and a blunt. Is there- fuck, uh- a-anything you wanted? I could, uh- thinking of stopping by Home Depot for some rope, too-”

 

Their eyes find his form. He carefully raises a hand, and just says, “Hi.”

 

They stare at him for a moment. Then they look up at Anakin, still trying to take through the makeshift gag, and then they find Sylvain’s face. Miroslav looks at him and nearly freezes; he looks . . . not upset, per se, but strict. Like he was- was ready to take control. Lay down the law. S-Something like-

 

_ A dominant _ . He swallows. The other person seems to do the same, and looks off to the side.

 

“J-Just- tell me what you need and I’ll go,” they say in a stammer. “Fucking hell, Sylvain-”

 

“I’m expecting you to put a red sticker in your journal this morning, Alexei,” is the short response, not in a particularly dark tone, more flitted about, almost… teasing as Sylvain meets their gaze, his eyes growing smaller before giving a quick blink. “Don’t you look comfortable today. I’m sure Acacia had something to do with that… although I can’t say I blame her. There are times when you’re quite dashing.”

 

Alexei just shakes their head at him, seemingly more at ease when Sylvain’s face relaxes into a soft smile, saying, “We need more tea. Bananas would be good too- some english muffins? Nothing too unhealthy or Blake will be down my throat again.” He chuckles, half to himself glancing back to Miroslav. “By the way, Alexei, this is my new roommate. Miroslav, Alexei.” He waves his hands. “We were just finishing up here anyway- give us a couple minutes and we’ll be out.”

 

Alexei stepped back toward the hallway, before there was another harsh murmur of, “Mind the doors, won’t you, Alex? I’ll make sure Acacia takes this into account later.” Miroslav is still staring at him with wide eyes when Sylvain turns around. “Now. Where were we?”

 

“Acacia can take  _ shit _ into account later!” is all he hears from the hallway before hearing some awfully . . .  _ loud _ stomps to the front door, only to hear it swing open and slam shut. Miroslav keeps staring at the studio door in bewilderment. “That was . . .” he stops. Then, he finishes, “Unexpected. Um . . . not to be rude, but just because I’m pretty sure: what the fuck is wrong with them?”

 

“Alexei’s… been a bit on edge lately,” is all Sylvain really has in him to say, looking away from the door and down to his feet as he tries to ignore the thoughts at the back of his head. “This is a rough time of year for them.” He moves his position until he’s looking down at Miroslav, able to meet the clear blue of his eyes and give a tiny click with his tongue. “It’s something you’d have to ask them about, honestly. I don’t want to invade their personal space- could ask  Acacia if you wanted. She’s Alexei’s dominant.”

 

He was halfway to asking more - specifically  _ how the hell could they be a sub? _ \- when they’re suddenly caught at the position between the two of them. Sylvain leaning above him, his dark eyes trained on his . . . to be honest, with all of the talk from before, it’s shaking up Miroslav’s head, taking it into a thousand directions, and he can’t help but feel off as his mind almost wanders. He almost wonders what it’d be like to have Sylvain above him like that, kissing him, leaving bites down his neck, stripping him bare, exposing him to the cold air as he took a hold of his length, or else- else ordered him to-

 

Miroslav can feel the blush on his face. He coughs and drops his eyes with a deep breath. “O-On edge,” he says. “I c-can’t imagine.”

 

The blush seems to be growing steadily on Miroslav’s face, his cheeks such a bright shade of red Sylvain wishes it were on his canvas. He thinks of how it would feel to draw Miroslav like this- excited and starting to undo around him. He tries to tell himself it’s only the art of it that he’s thinking of- when he reaches down to cup Miroslav’s cheek, caresses the flushed skin with the edge of his thumb, tilts his chin up with long, tanned fingers.

 

“You seem nervous. Do I make you nervous, Miroslav?” Sylvain asks, a playful lilt to his tone that still seems to hold some sway of power, watching the young man avert his eyes quickly. “You know, it’s alright… if you want it. I can tell that you do- are you thinking about it now? Me pinning you against the floor, ravishing you?” 

 

Miroslav doesn’t look up.

 

“No?” A laugh. “Well, that’s alright. I suppose I can keep fucking Anakin… suppose I can keep all my thoughts about having you tied up like this… making you turn scarlet, making you moan… out of my head. Or… you could just say it.” 

 

_ Say what? _ Miroslav’s eyes ask, finally meeting his.

 

“Well, Alexei is Acacia’s. Anakin is Blake’s. You could be mine… if you wanted to be. Just say yes.”

 

H-Holy . . . all breath seems to leave him in one big gasp. He certainly can’t get it out of his head now; just the way he  _ speaks _ , all of the confidence in his voice, it makes him want to give in. Give in just like this, let him push him down onto the wooden floor and hold down his wrists, go ahead and just- just  _ ravish him _ . It barely takes a moment to realize how willing he is, too. He’s completely hard, nipples pert, and he can feel the blush on his cheeks spreading down the back of his neck. All the while, Sylvain’s holding his eyes, completely goddamn unfazed. And his words just repeat in the back of his mind -  _ turning scarlet, moaning out of sheer submission _ . . .

 

Fuck, where was this  _ coming _ from . . .? He’d never bottomed before, certainly hadn’t planned on it. Even still, it’s so much like this . . . to be this close to somebody, to feel so exposed like this . . . to feel like he’s being tugged down, to feel the weight curling into his very bones . . .

 

He swallows down the lump in his throat. Then, he forces himself to close his eyes. “A-And what would it mean?” he asks. His voice sounds so hoarse to his own ears. “Wh-What would you do i-if I said yes?”

 

“So many things…” there was a long pause, a quiet hum. “There are so many things I could do to you… pain and pleasure, hurt and comfort…” his hand trails down to Miroslav’s chest, experimentally toying with one of the pert buds, before a small spurt of laughter leaves him. “But at the end of the day, it’s about two things: comfort and control. We could both fill that need that the other has- I need someone who will respect me, let me claim them, let me ravish them… and you need someone who will comfort you, hold you, help you experience new things in the most comfortable way possible… that’s all there is to it, Miroslav. You don’t have to say yes today- but soon. You could tell me soon.”

 

_ Ravish _ . His head’s stuck on that word. It keeps repeating itself in his mind, and  _ god _ , the images that come with it - being touched in every place, his hands so firm and consistent against his body, leaving him asking for more, it- his eyes close without his meaning to, and he’s not even sure if he’s making a sound or if he’s imagining the quiet whimper that seems to pass his lips. And it shouldn’t be a question, he thinks, but something about him, about Sylvain, it’s leaving him out of his goddamn senses, and  _ god _ -

 

He wants more.  _ God _ , he wants more, wants his-

 

“Sylvain,” seems to be the only thing that can part his lips, and he’s surprised to hear the creak of chairlegs against the floor as he almost falls to one side. It’s almost . . . frightening when he feels himself leaning against a soft leg, covered in Sylvain’s jeans, and he’s not sure why he’s so . . . why he wants this so much, why he needs this, but he can’t help it. Even if it’s only been a day, Sylvain just had this  _ way _ and he barely knows him, but- he’s shivering and pressing his face against his leg and whispering another desperate little phrase- “S-Sylvain, please.  _ Yes _ .”

 

It’s that word that so desperately makes him want to take Miroslav into his arms, do as he’d said before and ravish him, pin him down and slide his legs apart and places his mouth against pale skin, cover him in so many lovely marks that they’d show for days… but he can’t. Not now, at least, because there are still so many things that need to be put in place, and he’s still trying to deal with everything that’s being thrown at him and…

 

There’s a sudden voice that snaps him out of his reverie, making him glance back up to the seemingly exasperated third occupant of the room, Anakin’s eyes resting on Miroslav’s face, although he doesn’t say anything else for the time being.

 

“Can you be good?” Sylvain asks.

 

“You two make me want to puke.”

 

Sylvain’s standing to his feet, resting a hand on Miroslav’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go back to the room and grab me a gag and the largest vibrator you can find? If you see Blake around, tell him he needs to come see me too. As for this…” he gestures between himself and Miroslav. “Hurry back and we’ll see how this works for you.”

 

It’s enough to make him snap out of it. He hardly even realizes that Sylvain’s stood and asked him something, and it takes a moment between hearing it and registering it for him to finally pull himself to his feet. He’s pushing himself out the door and into the hallway before it finally hits, the lack of food and- and everything else. He has to lean against the wall and try to clear his head; “ _ God _ ,” comes out in a choked whisper. It’s like his world still isn’t steady, and all he can think of for the moment was that pure  _ intimacy _ , and it takes another second for his head to kick back into gear and move him back to his - their -  _ fuck _ , their room.

 

And then he’s bumping into somebody and he’s stumbling back, still clutching the wall in a daze, and he’s looking up and trying to register the face in front of him, except it’s somebody he doesn’t recognize, a woman - Acacia. “S-Sorry-” he forces out as he realizes, trying to keep himself up- “Sylvain just- wanted something-”

 

Acacia’s sizing him up in a few brief seconds- he’s small, a good few inches shorter than he is, somewhat wiry, with black hair and stark blue eyes that seem practically overwhelmed with emotion. Yet the most obvious thing is the pallid color of his face, how unsteady he seems on his feet, leaning against the wall as he tried to keep himself collected.

 

She shakes her head. “You let small words get to you. Just small. When is last time you have eaten? You look very sickly.” She glances back to the kitchen, before saying, “Do as you were asked. I am getting you food now. You like fruit? You will eat, do not give me look like that.” She punches his shoulder gently, before walking back toward the kitchen. “Stay outside Sylvain’s studio. I will bring food. And water- you need to stay hydrated. Dear boy looks like he has seen ghost. Please try not to pass out on me.”

 

It takes him longer than it should for the words to register in his head, he thinks, before gathering the presence of mind to push open the door to his room and stumble in. He’s stuck, for a moment, trying to think again; then,  _ gag and toy _ , and he does a quick scan of the room to try and figure out where anything even was. He didn’t get a great look last night, nor this morning, but-  _ fuck _ , he can’t think. His stomach’s growling, and he’s still trying to think past  _ what the hell was going on _ and  _ god, I’m realy tired _ .

 

Jesus, but that- all of that. Everything. He isn’t sure what to say, or what to feel - it’s like it’s all mixing up in his head-

 

He can barely find the gag at first, blending in with the dark sheets of Sylvain’s bed, but it’s not difficult to find the toy hiding in a cabinet, before he’s pushing himself out of the room and closing the door behind him. It’s only then that he realizes how much he’s shaking, just from all the ways he’d pushed himself; there’s a touch on his shoulder, and he’s leaning into it and hearing a surprised sound as he finally leans against somebody with a shaky gasp, almost too vague a noise to describe, and his whole head’s beginning to slow down as he tries to think-  _ dammit, went without anything for too long _ -

 

The guy’s jumpy- it startles Acacia, if only a little bit, when he leans against her, and his body’s so light and so shaky she’s surprised he hasn’t fallen over already. She’s dragging him over the couch, sitting him down in it despite the soft protests, and jerking the gag and toy from his hands to set them on top of the table, quickly replacing it with a plate. Two blueberry waffles  stare up at him.

 

“So, how you like this place?”

 

Miroslav barely hears her question - he’s distracted by the waffles, still giving that steam of warmth, and he doesn’t mind when he has to pick one up with his bare hands. He’s stuffing his mouth with it and chewing with a sigh through his nose. It’s  _ good _ . So good, and he’s so goddamn hungry. He’s half ready to tear into another bite when she speaks.

 

“Like it? I . . .” he thinks for a moment, half distracted by the food in his hands. “It’s . . . interesting,” he says, before leaning down and taking another bite out of the waffle. At this rate, he was going to consume the second one whole; he swallows and has to pound his chest, he’d taken such a big bite. Miroslav pulls in a breath and thinks of how to answer. “Blake and Sylvain are . . . nice. Anakin’s a bit of a brat. And Alexei is - well - th-the two of you are together, right? They seemed sort of . . . cranky,” he admits. She raises a slim eyebrow at him; he looks down at his food and shakes a little bit more. It takes him a moment to try and recall . . . wasn’t she the dominitrix of the group?  _ Oh, lord _ . “I think I threw them off guard, is all,” he says to his food. “That’s- well, yeah. Sorry.”

 

“It is no problem, sweetheart,” Acacia says, sinking into the chair beside his, raising an eyebrow as she lets her eyes wander across the man’s small form again, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she leaned forward to brush black locks away from his face, clicking her teeth. Her hands feel too sweaty- the heat in the flat had been turned up to a point where even breathing could make a person sweat.

 

Miroslav's already blushing. He is cute, yeah? Wonder how he would feel about squeezing that pretty ass into leather. Has he done this much before? Bet not. Blushing like a fucking virgin. Really, should not have let something so innocent live here. The thoughts make an almost purr leave the blonde woman’s lips, running fingers along his defined jaw.

 

“You are very handsome, no? Would look very cute all spread out and begging for me. Can imagine the way you would go red as I am spanking your ass. Very cute indeed.” Acacia winks. “Are you being coy, Miroslav?”

 

“C-Coy?” he asks as he feels his face heat up even more. Jesus, he can’t go more than a minute without somebody trying to flirt with him. Though, he has to admit that Acacia is attractive . . . very attractive. Still, he can’t let his head get caught up for long before he’s catching the scent of waffles again, and he turns his head down again to stuff another bite in his mouth.

 

“I’m just trying to keep up,” is all he says as he swallows his bite. “I haven’t even been here a day. Got here and just . . . collapsed into bed,” he says sheepishly. “Everybody seems cool, though. A little surprising, but cool,” he pauses.Then, quietly, he adds, “Sylvain is a really good painter. I wouldn’t have expected it, I guess. It’s . . . nice.”

 

She’s giving him a look. A rather knowing look, actually, and he looks away and occupies himself with his food. Now that he has something in his stomach, he does feel better, though he thinks he’d prefer something more soon. Some waffles weren’t going to make up for a whole day . . . though, they could come close, given how freaking good they taste.

 

Still, he’s going to make this work. Despite the tastes around here, and despite how vulnerable he felt, he was going to figure things out. After all, these guys weren’t mean (except Anakin and Alexei, maybe); they were just kinky. Well, and other things, but their oddities are the least of concern. “It’s good to be here,” he finally says with a little nod to her. “It’ll take some getting used to, but you guys aren’t bad. Just gotta do my part and not get ‘punished’, right?”

 

“Exactly. But our rules are very simple, Miroslav. Very simple. To break one is harder than to follow it in my thought. Still, make sure you get along decently with everyone. It helps to make friends rather than enemies. Although I do not think you will have a problem… you are very sweet.” she touches her lips to his ear. “Almost gave me a toothache when I heard you talk.” Her tongue teased his earlobe, gently tugging it down with her teeth.

 

There was a sudden clang from the studio half startling the blonde before Acacia's eyes refocused on Miroslav, glancing down to the empty plate in his hands. She jerked her head toward the objects on the armrest next to him, casually. “Should probably get those to Sylvain. We will talk later, pretty boy.”

 

_ Pretty boy _ . Jesus, she certainly played her part . . . as a dominitrix, he thinks. But she’s right; he’s surprised at how quickly he’d managed to eat, and he feels better. More alert, more awake. But then he thinks of going back to that room, with Anakin and  _ Sylvain _ , and he has to take a deep breath to steady his nerves again. He looks back to the toys on the armrest. They were . . . these were the right ones, right? Sylvain had asked for those two?

 

“Yeah . . . okay,” he says, and he just gets up and grabs the items before walking back down to the hallway and to the studio door. It takes him a second to remember not to just walk in;  _ red sticker _ , he remembers, though he can’t help but wonder what sort of punishments they were talking about. Did they mean . . . what, sex? Sadism? Somehow the idea isn’t completely repulsive, but it definitely teases at his nerves.

 

Still.  _ Little chance of that happening, I guess _ . So he takes a deep breath and just remembers to knock on the door.

* * *

 

The punishment is often times worth more than the reward. Sylvain wonders if it's true in many cases- he thinks it's more accurate now, tying the final knot of rope around Miroslav's shoulder, the intricate lacing pattern too beautiful against his fair skin. He's shivering, completely bare, sweat on the back of his neck and eyes shut. Almost like a statue- majestic and hinged down. Grounded.

 

“Do you know what you did?” Sylvain breathes out, leaning down to cup Miroslav's face as he lets his hot breath hit the younger man’s cool skin, before pulling away. “Acacia told you not to touch the equipment.”

 

Miroslav bows his head, a shiver coursing through his body. The way he quivers is almost artistic- surreal though impossibly honest. Sylvain wonders if he's allowed to enjoy his reactions so much… almost feels like it should be illegal. Still, he brushes hair out of his face, looking over to the stark white canvas. “Stay still, darling. It's not as hard as it seems. You're going to look so beautiful on paper. Do you enjoy this punishment? I know the position can't be comfortable….”

 

He licks his lips, dipping the fine tipped brush into black ink, holding it against the white as his eyes fix on Miroslav's rigid form. “You're so beautiful. Always so pretty for me.”

 

His heart is pounding. It’s pounding for so many reasons at this point, from pure nerves and anxiety and the way that Sylvain’s looking at him . . . his dark eyes seem so pleased, and  _ fuck _ , is it hot. He feels like he should be regretting it, poking around in the supply closet, but he couldn’t really help it, right? He . . . he’d been curious. And Miroslav’s not even entirely sure why, just knows that being around these people has made him all the more curious to see what their lives were like - including the sex.

 

But now he’s tied up, and Sylvain’s watching him, and he’s not supposed to move . . . but  _ oh god, hell _ , if he doesn’t want to struggle. The cotton cords are so taut around him, loose enough for safety but tight enough that every breath he takes seems to cut into his skin. It’s so much. It’s so much, and he’s thankful that he can at least see, when he’s watch others like Anakin turn into messes without speech or sight, but  _ this _ . . .

 

God. He can see why he likes being tied up so much. Miroslav isn’t even sure he can handle it, thinking of how long this might take, how long he’s going to be bound completely naked in front of him-

 

He lets out a gasp. Then, he tries to swallow, tries to clear his dry mouth. “A-Ah-” he stammers. “H-How long- is this going to-?”

 

“Long enough,” is all Sylvain cares to respond with, shaking his head in amusement, flicking the brush along white paper, sliding long trails of black along the now marred surface, enough to bring traces of a face, a body, long bonds and worn ropes of a silvery grey to light against it. Miroslav is shuddering, obviously wanting to move, eyelids tightly shut as his toes curl with the heaving of his chest.

 

He gives another soft laugh, half tired as his hand rests for a moment, fingers stretching themselves out, trying to relax the muscles of the worn out appendage. Sylvain ignores the twitching of his chest, the loud echo of his heartbeat in his mind as he watches the younger, humming to quell it. “I'll reward you for staying still, you know. Good slaves get their masters’ affection.” it's sultry, punctuated with a wink, before Sylvain looks back down to his palette. “So good for me, Miroslav. Not withdrawn like Alexei or obnoxious like Anakin. Quiet and patient. We were such a good match.”

 

He’s whimpering. He can’t help the noise, can’t contain it even if he wanted to, and it’s so embarrassing he feels like he’s going to turn redder, or like he’s just going to cry. But even the way Sylvain  _ talks _ , it’s so . . . erotic, so appealing. Miroslav swallows and tries to still the shudders of his body, tries to relax.

 

It’s nearly impossible with all the rope, though. He can’t fall to pieces even if he wanted to; he’s too tied together to do it. He tugs at the ropes a little bit, just at this back, and they press so tightly against his skin that he’s gasping. He can’t stop the sound - a soft  _ moan _ pouring over his lips, enough to surprise him. Miroslav hadn’t even thought that he’d- he’d  _ ever _ make such a sound. Not like this-

 

“Sylvain,” passes his lips in such a quiet whimper. He feels too spread out, too exposed. And he’s so hard, and Sylvain can see, can  _ tell _ , and he can only imagine the way his gaze is roaming over his body, taking in every inch of his pale skin, and Miroslav has to bite his lip only to gasp at the pain and the blood in his mouth-

 

“ _ Sylvain _ ,” finally spills out, louder this time, more needy than before. “ _ P-Please. I-I can’t- c-can’t- _ ”

 

Sylvain sighs, standing up from where he’s half-crouched over his painting, looking to Miroslav before shaking his head and refocusing on the easel. The ink is drying on the white paper, hardly defined but reminiscent of something a bit too delicate to be real… removed. Not existentialist. He’s smiling, pleased, as he kneels by Miroslav’s side, half crouching over him as the boy’s name parts from his lips in a gentle, near whisper.

 

“Miroslav,” Sylvain commands, tilting his chin up so their eyes can meet. And then his hand’s finding its way between the younger’s sticky thighs, teasing the underside of his now flaccid cock, almost bemused. “You’ve made a mess of yourself. Did my words do this?” There’s no response, aside from a subtle, breathless moan as Miroslav’s hips push against his hand, tilting forward until Sylvain can drag a hand beneath him, flip him around to brush fingers along the sensitive curve of his ass, before chuckling lightly.

 

“This is something I wouldn’t dare to put on a canvas,” he breathes, his first finger dipping in, unlubed, pushing in as he feels Miroslav’s rim desperately trying to force him out, before a second slides in, curling inside that tight heat, making little shivers run through his submissive’s body, a low whimper emanating from him followed by a louder moan. His hand is massaging Miroslav’s back, drawing little circles against the hot flesh, until he can scissor his walls apart and curl his fingers deeper, make Miroslav arch up with a keening whine as his cheeks flush bright red.

 

He can feel the tenseness in his lower body again, followed by an aching cry as Miroslav presses back against his hand, and he’s nipping at the back of the younger’s ear, almost teasingly, sliding his fingers out as he lets Miroslav’s legs go weak again.

 

“You’re too funny… coming from something as small as that.” Sylvain’s stroking back his hair, helping him to lie back in the position he’d been in previously, a finger drawing through the splatters of release on his thighs, raising it to his mouth and licking it off, half experimentally. 

 

“Be good and there may be more where that came from.”

 

His whole mind’s gone static. Completely goddamn static, and he’s shaking with it too, from the stimulation and the way Sylvain had been touching him, it was-  _ god _ , so good, he’s gasping and trying to face him and calm himself down-

 

“ _ S-Sylvain- _ ” is all he can rasp out. Then there’s a hand on the back of his neck, fingers teasing into his hair, and suddenly his mind’s snapping a little, letting out a shaking cry as he nearly falls forward against Sylvain’s shoulder. He’s stammering, hardly knows how to speak, only knows that he’s exposed and still so tightly bound and that he feels so goddamn  _ good _ -

 

“S-Sylv- I . . . M- _ Master _ . Master, please, I-I- l-let me call you my-” he stops and moans, presses his face against his neck. “ _ Fuck _ , Master it’s so goddamn  _ good _ . . . wh-why is this-?”

 

“Of course it’s good,” Sylvain taunts, fingers messing with long strands of black, combing through Miroslav’s hair and pressing against his temples, noting the stress that seems to have seeped from the other as he’d come undone. It’s strange, how Miroslav almost looks more… accepting now than he had previously. There was an odd sort of comfort that stemmed from that- knowing that Miroslav enjoyed it, wanted it… made him lose any previous reservations he’d had.

 

He’s undoing the knot at the base of Miroslav’s arms, helping pull the thin cords from his body as he lets the man lie back against his body, bury his face in his shoulder with an exhausted moan as he continues to ask  _ why.  _

 

“If you like it, that’s all that matters,” the older noted, brushing a thumb over a bright pink cheek, shifting his position so he could hold Miroslav’s head in his lap, caress his stiff shoulders and tense neck. “You’re so beautiful… your master’s precious little pet. Do you need to rest? That’s alright… just let me hold you.” His fingers press across Miroslav’s lips, hushing him. “Shh… don’t speak. Just relax.”

 

“I-Is it . . . o-over?” he asks quietly as Sylvain touches him, presses fingers into his sore shoulders. Miroslav can help the light moans as his master pressed out all of the knots in his shoulder, in his neck . . . his hands are warm. So warm. And he’s so careful, attentive, trying to work out all of the kinks, and  _ jesus _ , if that isn’t an innuendo in itself-

 

He isn’t sure what’s going on. His head’s in a different place, half sunk into some kind of murky territory, and he’s reaching over and wrapping arms around his master’s waist as he lets out a trembling sigh. “Fuck . . .” is all he can whimper as his legs seem to tremble, as he kicks just a little bit from all the energy. He’s barely able to hide his face from him; Miroslav’s not sure he’s just going to burn up from it all, from the way he feels like this, held so closely.

 

A warm touch runs across his cheek. He gasps; there’s a hand in his hair, another pulling at his side, and his voice is spilling over again with “A-Am I your- M-Master, let- let me-” only interrupted by another whimper and a soft sigh as he sinks against his lap.


	2. tying knots

He’s surprised to wake up without an alarm going off next to him, for once; even on the weekends, it’d always seemed like he had too much to do, like studying for class or helping out around the flat or taking part in one of the punishments that always seemed to come flying at him and everybody else. This time, though, it’s just silence, nothing but the light through the curtains and the comforter against his bare chest and the soft sounds of his own breath alone in the room. He looks over to the other side of the room and finds Sylvain’s bed empty; he gets the feeling he’d went for a run or something, either that or his studio, and he almost wonders if he should join him; he keeps meaning to go to the gym, but he’s been occupied with . . . _other_ kinds of acrobatics that he never had the headspace to think about it. _Should ask Alexei sometime_ , he thinks, _when they’re not acting like a weirdo_.

 

Still, it’s a relief to have the relatively quiet morning. Miroslav sighs and slowly stretches out his body, arms, legs, and all - and then he nearly jumps as he hears a crash, a hoarse whisper of “ _fuck fuck fuck where is it god where is it_ -” and he’s sitting up in bed.

 

That voice - it sounded panic, nothing but a rasp. And he recognizes it, almost, but still . . . that couldn’t be . . .

 

Miroslav sighs. _So much for the quiet morning_ is all he thinks before rolling out of bed and tossing on his clothes in a rush, before opening the door and peeking out into the hallway.

 

There’s loud rummaging coming from the door directly across from Miroslav’s room, before it’s flung open, with the sound of another heavy crash, by hands too shaky to look steady in the least. The rambling grows louder, almost too much so in the heavy silence of the hallway, though his voice is muted, impossibly so.

 

Anakin’s head is shaking, barely looking up as he takes note of Miroslav standing in the doorway, his head halfway out, eyes wide as the younger of the two turned away from him to slam a fist against the wall, trying to ignore the cracked nails digging into his palm. His skin felt like it was on fire, tiny, blister-like bubbles along his feet and the inside of his forearms, the little scars all too prominent on his skin- cuts and puncture points that weren’t supposed to be seen, and…

 

_Fuck. Fuck me, holy shit, mother of Jesus fucking Christ-_

 

He shook his head, wrapping skinny arms around his too-thin frame, scratching at one of the tattoos absentmindedly as he tried to focus on anything but Miroslav’s eyes watching him… they were just… he was always watching fucking _everything_ now, and Anakin felt like trash basically seventy percent of the time around him and… _it hurts._

 

He slams the door to the bathroom with a rough sob, lips parted in wordless cries as he tried to keep himself steady, because it was all a goddamn jumble right now and… _oh shit, I forgot my meds again, it’s been so goddamn long now_ and _why do I feel like this it was fine five minutes ago I don’t know I don’t know I don’t want to be here, just make it end._

 

It takes him less than a second to realize.

 

 _Anakin_ , he thinks, and Miroslav finds himself gnawing on his lower lip. _So that’s why he seems so erratic._ He wasn’t blind. Considering the way Anakin was scratching at himself, he was only making the marks brighter, easier to see. They looked like scars, actually. He tries to think of what kind of injury would make scars like that, right in his inner elbow, but just the thought makes him tense up and realize.

 

 _Drugs_ . So - no wonder, then. That explained a lot about his character, actually. And now Miroslav can hear him sobbing in the bathroom, the door muffling the sounds just enough that whatever he was rambling just sounded like a mix of slurs. Miroslav leans against the doorway and tries to think. _Never good at this shit_ , he tells himself, _Even as a fucking psych major_. He sighs; he drags his fingers through his hair before looking at the door again with a tired sigh.

 

Well. He had two ideas. And one of them at the very least was going to get him in trouble.

 

First he goes to the kitchen, and he puts on the kettle with some water and sets it to boil, along with making up a cup with a chamomile tea bag (Sylvain liked those the most) and a sweetener for the hell of it. Then he walks back to the hallway . . . and carefully knocks on Acacia’s door, before peeking his head in and darting in once he knows nobody’s there.

 

It’s not difficult to find where she keeps her make-up. He’s been in here a few times, at least, enough to recognize where she left things. And anyway, he grew up with a sister who was already into art, whether on a canvas or her own face. He finds the foundation easily - pale enough for Acacia, so probably well enough for Anakin - before darting out of the room and closing it behind him.

 

He carefully walks to the bathroom door. He can still hear the sobs echoing from inside, shaking with every breath.

 

Miroslav sighs and knocks on the door. The sobs stop, for just an instant.

 

“I took Acacia’s foundation from her room, if you need to cover them,” he says softly. “Do you need my help? Or . . . I guess I can talk, if you want. I’m no psychologist, but it’s not like I don’t study.”

 

The shaking stops. It stops for the briefest of moments, practically fleeting away before Anakin even knows what to do with it, and he’s grasping the oversized shirt hanging off his tiny frame so loosely, bony fingers attempting to pull at the fabric as though it could ground him, make things more solid… but it still feels so erratic, and he’s laughing in between the sobs, his skin tingling from where it’s been pulled raw, eyes slipping shut as he debates what to say.

 

There’s some irony in the fact that it’s _Miroslav,_ because he’s pretty much convinced that the guy hates him. Maybe it was the whole ‘I’m going to shove my shirt in your mouth so I don’t have to listen to you’ from the first meeting, or the way Anakin had intentionally pointed out things about him- his body, the way he walked, how easily he blushed, how he shivered so often- in some attempt to gain a reaction. And maybe it wasn’t even because he was upset- Anakin couldn’t even tell. He felt upset ninety percent of the time, anyway. Usually it was just…

 

Just because of his mood. And that just made everything worse, the thought that he’d been so happy this morning- spent hours awake last night because he’d practically finished another rap and had been playing some stupid indie horror game until Blake had screamed at him to go to bed… it had been nice. He’d felt _nice._ Not enough to call it happy, per se, but there was something good about it. He remembered how happy he’d been when he’d woken up and Blake had been there, his arm thrown over Anakin’s waist, smiling at him…

 

And then everything went to shit and it just kept crashing and crashing and _crashing._ It felt like he was buried in so much shit that there was literally no means of digging himself out. And that’s when he’d started shaking, and…

 

And then what? Miroslav?

 

“T-the fuck do you want?” Anakin hissed out, shaking his head as he grabbed at his hair, tugging roughly on the dark red strands and shaking more, biting down on his lip to muffle any louder noises wanting to escape. He was confused- everything just made him feel more confused, unsure of whether he should tell Miroslav that _it’s fine, go away_ or… just let him come in. He still isn’t sure, just listening to the knuckles tapping the door again, before he was standing up and smacking the wall. “I’m fucking fine, aight? Why don’t you mind your own goddamn business for once? Go spend time with your boyfriend or something. Act like everything’s just all peachy keen and- and _I’m not having a nervous breakdown, okay?_ ”

 

Against all better judgment, Anakin opens the door.

 

To be honest, Miroslav’s a little surprised when Anakin opens the door, because given his tone, he didn’t really want to be helped. Then again, Anakin seems just as surprised himself, his eyes going wide, his breaths nearly stopping, all of it. And then his eyes are looking down to the little bottle in his hands, and back up to the look on his face, and Miroslav gets the feeling that Anakin’s going to break down again if he doesn’t say something.

 

He just gives him an even look and takes one of his hands.

 

“Hey. Come on.”

 

He knows Anakin’s halfway to screaming at him, but he’s not sure he cares. Miroslav drags the other down the hallway and to the living room, pushing him down on the couch before walking back to the kettle and pouring the hot water into the teacup. He brings the tea over and sets it on the coffee table. Then, Miroslav sits next to Anakin - still shaking like all hell - and takes one of his arms.

 

Anakin rips it out of his grip. Miroslav tries not to give him a nasty look and just holds up the foundation again.

 

“You’re shaking a lot. I figured I could get it smooth - unless you’d rather do it yourself?”

 

Anakin doesn’t say anything. He’s still shaking, a lot, and Miroslav finally gives him a softer look as he takes his arm again and pulls it over.

 

Admittedly, there are a _lot_ of scars. A lot of them, all from syringes, he imagines, and all around the same place. They weren’t fresh, though, which was a relief (he figured he’d have noticed if Anakin was wandering around in a drug high). Still, he’s gentle when he uncaps the foundation and applies a small dot to the inside of his arm, and starts smoothing it out with his thumbs.

 

“Just take a few deep breaths, okay?” he asks. “Nobody else is around, and I just got up. And before you tell me to go back to my ‘boyfriend’,” he jokes, “Sylvain’s out too, and I have no ghastly idea where he went. And anyways . . . I’m not super eager to get found, anyways. You do realize I snuck into Acacia and Alexei’s room to get this, right? Alex will be down my throat if they find out.”

 

Anakin’s confused. He has to wonder if he’s supposed to be- if any of this makes sense, trying to… to fight it when it felt so nice, because Miroslav was warm and he was… gentle. Somehow. He isn’t surprised, but it’s still weird, feeling the slightly older man touching him with something that’s akin to care. He isn’t sure many people have done that- most hadn’t even tried, not even Sylvain, who’d been fucking him a good five months before Miroslav got here.

 

“I-I’m sorry? Sorry...didn’t mean to, fucked up, bad, bad, bad… Miroslav, god, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been screaming, I need… my medication. Seraquil, Depakote and lamictal- o-over there. Far drawer. I keep forgetting, haven’t taken any… since a couple weeks ago? I felt really good- like, really, really fuckin' good. Now I just feel… empty.”

 

There’s a long moment of silence as the ginger shakes his head again, looking down to his seemingly “scarless” arm, before his eyes find Miroslav’s face again. He looks… oddly nervous. Different than before- like… like he hadn't expected Anakin to even be capable of acting sensitive. It’s almost hurtful, really-- Miroslav acted like he didn’t know a bloody thing about him, and they'd been sharing a house for over a month.

 

But then again, they weren't exactly close. So maybe he didn’t.

 

“S-stop giving me that look. I didn’t grow a second head or get pregnant or anything so your shock factor should be relatively limited.” It’s sarcastic, before he gives a small snort of amusement, laughter bubbling out from his throat as he pulls his arm away from Miroslav again, giving him a once over.

 

“You know I never meant to make you hate me, right? I’m not very good at this… this ‘people’ thing, or whatever. Making friends. I don’t know if anyone here even really likes me, aside from Blake. B-but… you know. You’re… sorta cool. Just a bit. Yeah. Fuck. Gonna shut up before you realize I was trying to give you a compliment.” There’s a smile on Anakin’s face now, tiny and somewhat thin, just glancing back at his arms, before stretching them out and trying to pull Miroslav closer, wanting to curl up in the man’s arms and just… cling there for awhile.

 

_Why would you want to do that? You know what he thinks of you. Prick._

 

“Uh, yeah… thanks. I think… just. Don’t leave yet?”

 

He’s surprised to be pulled into Anakin’s arms - _very_ surprised. Still, he’s more surprised about what Anakin _said_. “You thought I hated you?” he asks. Then, of course, he thinks about it and puts his hand to his face. “Oh . . . yeah. First impressions are pretty important, right? I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t like you at all; I was already nervous, and I just . . . panicked. I mean, for the most part,” he adds in a grumble.

 

He thinks back, then. The names he’d given - they sounded familiar. Probably from his second year of school. That was when he’d taken the intro course to psychiatry . . . and promptly decided it wasn’t for him. He still remembers most of it, though. And the names _are_ familiar. Anakin’s still shaky, almost clinging to him like this, and Miroslav can’t help but give a sympathetic little smile. “That sounds like a concoction for bipolar disorder. How come you didn’t say anything? Would’ve explained a ton . . . have you talked to Blake about this? He could remind you. Or you could set up a schedule - just because you feel better doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take them, and the combination might help,” he stops and teases, “I’d suggest making it a chore, but from the sounds I keep hearing every other night, you like skipping your chores just a little _too_ much. Not that I blame you, per se. Alex does the same thing, from what Acacia tells.”

 

His cheeks are red. Hell, Anakin isn’t even sure why he’s blushing- Miroslav knew he was pretty shameless, or at least _usually_ was, but… well, showing off the fact he has actual feelings is almost embarrassing. He hardly wants to reply, shaking his hair out of his face and burying his head in Miroslav’s chest, glancing up at him through short, light eyelashes as a tiny giggle escapes him. “Yeah… guess I do… you’re one to talk about screaming, though. I mean, your voice gets so high I've had to ask Blake if he smuggled one of his female students home from school.”

 

Anakin really isn’t one to talk. His voice is light, at best, if not more on the feminine side, although it tended to have a more raspy nature to it that probably stressed that more.

 

“A-anyway… I didn’t… y’know. Wanna bother anyone. Uh… my last boyfriend? He was a dick. Y'know, Blake’ll remind me sometimes, if it gets bad. Jake used to… well, if we were having a fight… he’d hide them from me. I didn’t really realize he was doing it for awhile, but… yeah. I’m sort of... easy when I’m manic. Like… you get what I mean, right?” He turns his eyes down again, blowing a raspberry against Miroslav’s chest. “Thanks, I guess... for taking care of me. I’ll take my meds tonight, promise… don’t gotta tell anyone else. Kay? I… they don’t need to know. I’m fine, usually, I just… I felt something. Ugh. Cycling. Just talk to me?”

 

“As long as Blake knows, then I won’t tell anybody. He should know at least, since the two of you are screwing around. And anyways - this Jake sounds like an ass. At least you can call him your ex, right?” Miroslav sighs and pats Anakin’s head. “Just . . . talk to me tomorrow and let me know you took them. Believe me. Missing meds isn’t . . . fun. Especially after a while. Your system builds up a reservoir, right? But eventually . . .”

 

He looks away and tries to centre his head. Something about that . . . reminds him. Reminds him a _lot_ . And then he’s giving a little curse under his breath, his arms tense around Anakin, and he’s biting hard on his lower lip as he thinks _oh shit, shit, Miroslav you idiot, no fucking wonder-_ and Anakin’s looking up at him, and he just gives him a weak smile.

 

“Anyways. You know the spiel. Just- I’m glad you’re alright. Just don’t tell anybody about the foundation, okay?” he gives a nervous chuckle. “I’m totally okay with Sylvain’s punishments, but something tells me Acacia will want to get involved if she learns of it.”

 

He sounds so nervous, to be honest, that it almost worries Anakin, makes him question if he did something wrong- doesn’t mean to… didn’t think… thought Miroslav would’ve said something before, if he had, but he’s tensing up and his hand stops brushing through Anakin’s hair, and the ginger glances up at him for a quick moment, before their eyes meet and he almost looks away on instinct.

 

It feels pleasant.

 

He doesn’t think he should mention that.

 

“Not gonna tell her,” a short laugh. “Fuck, man- last time I went through her things I got fisted, so props to you for bein' ballsy. Not that it was exactly _bad,_ per se, just a rather uncomfortable experience. But hey, whatever gets you going, right? A few drinks or puffs and it’s all the same anyway.”

 

He looks up at Miroslav, noting the half terrified expression on his face, before Anakin’s moving his hand up and pushing a finger into his cheek. “Boop.” And then Miroslav’s looking down at him and he’s tucking his legs closer to his body, half purring as he pushes his head further against the man’s shoulder. “You’re so warm. Keep hugging me. But don’t leave marks on my skin. You just got it all pretty again.” A sigh. “God, I’m so horny right now, mate. Tried to jack off in a stall after class yesterday. It was successful. My first too. I’ve heard Acacia say she’s done it a handful of times… and to think I felt so proud.” He pokes Miroslav again, this time in the ribs. “Wanna come back to me and Blake’s room? We can cuddle. You can just tell Syl that I said you could.”

 

To be fair, Anakin isn’t exactly in his right mind, and he’s not completely sure if he _just_ wants to cuddle, or what. But it’s not looking like he’s going to let go anytime soon; he’s weak, and he looks tired, and . . . well, did he have anything else to do? _As long as Acacia doesn’t find out_ . . .

 

He finally sighs, and nods. “Yeah, we can do that. As long as the pants stay on, though. If I get caught, then I’ll be sore for a goddamn week.”

* * *

 

 

_What the fuck am I fucking forgetting?!_

 

He can’t think. Can’t, can’t - just keeps tearing through his schoolbag, sitting in front of the door with his keeps on the floor, trying to figure out what the hell he forgot this time, but- but it’s all _there_ , he swears it is. Three books for his classes, laptop, mouse, phone, pencils and notebook - _did I actually pack those books, though?_ He thinks, even when he can _see_ them right in front of him, right there on the _fucking floor_ , except his mind is on overdrive and he just keeps thinking _I need that fourth book, don’t I? Fuck, and it hasn’t arrived in the mail- wait, no, the professor said we didn’t need it until next week, but- shit, did he say anything? Did I miss it? Fuck, fuck-_

 

He hears a bang, and a dull pain in his head - and then he’s slamming his head against the wall again, and a sob is breaking out of his aching chest, and he can’t help but wrap his arms around his ribs. “ _Dammit_ ,” just comes out in a squeak, followed by “ _Fuck, fuck, not again, not . . . not again, not this_ -” as he curls in on himself and reaches up to claw at his chest, to try and make himself breathe-

 

 _I’m already late, I’m fucking late, late, I’m going to fucking fail this whole goddamn semester I’m such a fucking idiot_ -

 

There are _wails_ coming from the room next door. It’s enough to startle Blake out of sleep, especially when he hears something suddenly pound against the wall, a loud groan, another pound… _the fuck is that?_

 

A sob.

 

He’s shooting up in his bed, throwing the black blankets off of his body, hand scrambling around on the dresser as he tries to grab for his glasses, elbow knocking Anakin in the head and leading to a loud moan from the younger man, who was still almost completely passed out. _Wasn’t he supposed to leave for class ten minutes ago?_   


The sound comes again and the twenty-five year old is scrambling to his feet, slipping and throwing his hands out just a few seconds too late as his head hits the floor, blanket coming down behind him, before he’s on his knees and pushing the door open.

 

“Okay. Okay. Yeah. M-Miroslav? That you?” He calls out, another _thud_ against the wall catching his attention. And there he is- his hair messy, appearance disheveled, backpack on the ground in front of him with belongings strewn everywhere, slamming his head against the wall. Blake isn’t sure if he’s saying anything- if they’re sobs or actual words- but decides it doesn’t matter anyway, leaning forward to pull the man into his arms, hefting him up from the floor and setting him down on the couch.

 

Miroslav’s struggling, a panting mess, half kicking his feet out against the older man’s body, but Blake’s just raising a hand to brush through his hair, covering his eyes, trying to steady Miroslav the best he could as he says, “Just breathe. Miroslav, can you hear me? Breathe. In and out. That’s it. Inhale. Exhale.”

 

He’s still shuddering and gasping out half-legible words, hand pushing against his chest with fingers curling in his shirt, tugging and tugging at the sweaty fabric. “Hey- hey, Miroslav,” Blake’s resting a hand over his, tilting his chin up before adjusting their positions so he was holding the trembling man’s head in his own, rather tiny lap, looking down at him as he tugs the blanket up from the end of the couch, tucking it around Miroslav’s chest. “Shh… you’re okay, man. That’s it. Breathe. Look at me, kay? Miroslav? Good. What’s going on? What happened?”

 

He doesn’t know who it is. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t- doesn’t want to know, wants to be left alone to this fucking bullshit and just try not to completely blow up from the inside. But whoever it is, they’re forcing him on the couch, and he can’t goddamn _breathe_ , even when he’s being told to breathe in and out, as he’s pulled onto somebody’s lap and is covered up with a warm blanket, something . . .

 

Miroslav sobs. His hands are digging into fabric, nails probably leaving holes, but he can’t talk, can’t explain- not this, not like this, not when everything else is so important-

 

“ _Let me go_ ,” is all he can force through his lips, but the other isn’t listening, just keeps rubbing his back, and he can’t help but cry and hide his face in the man’s legs. “ _I couldn’t figure out what I forgot- I had everything, I just thought I didn’t have something-_ ” He’s not making sense. He knows he’s not, because he knows he looks crazy, because he knows he’s _going_ crazy. And he’s shuddering and trying to rub at his eyes and trying to contain his breaths, because he’s not entirely sure how to calm down.

 

Then: “M-Master?” is spilling over his lips, and he’s curling up and whimpering and asking “Wh-Where’s Sylvain? P-Please-” before he’s crying again, too dizzy to stop the nightmare in his head.

 

“Sylvain isn’t here, sweetie,” is all Blake can force out, hand cupping Miroslav’s cheek and trying to focus his eyes, stroking back dark hair with the blade of his hand, fingers tugging the blanket even tighter around him as he lets Miroslav soak his sweats with tears, press his face into his thigh as he keeps stammering out inaudible words.

 

And then he’s looking up again and the older man’s placing his hand on Miroslav’s back, sliding the arm around his shoulders to better heft his weight against his own short body, looking up to the clock before trying to pull away from Miroslav. But the latter’s hands are clutching to him tightly, and frankly, Blake really doesn’t have the heart to pull away when he looks like this. So he just grabs Miroslav’s hand, holds it tightly to try and let him latch onto reality again, gives a low hum of pity before shaking his head. “Anxiety, huh? It’s a nasty bitch to deal with…” he flicks strands of hair away from Miroslav’s eyes, hands massaging his temples as he tries to calm him further. “You said you were missing something? It looks like all your stuff’s here. Just need a breather? Don’t worry- I’ve got ya.”

 

He’s shaking his head at his words - “ _I know I’m missing something, I know, but I’m not and I dont’ know and just-_ ” he tries to swallow and just sobs instead, pressing his face more firmly against his legs with a weak cry of “Sylvain . . .”

 

Dammit, he hates this. Doesn’t want this- not like this, not in front of somebody. Not when he’s missed his bus and his classes and _fuck_ , he’s going to fucking fail if he doesn’t pass these courses, missing them is a fucking _death sentence_ , and then he’ll never get his degree and what the hell is anybody going to say-?!

 

 _Breathe, Miroslav_ , is all he can tell himself, so he tries to pull in a breath, tries to let it out softly and without the sobs to block it. And it takes a while, through grit teeth and tears, to try and calm down, but . . . it works. His body is completely tensed up, and he isn’t sure he has the strength to stand anymore, but . . . it’s over. It’s over, this time.

 

Why did it have to happen _now_ . . .?

 

He’s finally going lax as all the strength leaves his body, as he shivers and whimpers against somebody’s lap. And then he’s trying to look up, see who found him after all of this goddamn time, and it’s only partially a relief when he sees him, and he’s letting out a weak, “Blake . . .”

 

“Yeah, buddy,” Blake says, ruffling his hair gently. “I’m here. Good to see you coming out of it…” he shakes his head, looking away toward the clock briefly, having to hide a wince when he sees that the clock reads _8:15._ “Early class, huh? First day back… I could probably drop you off on the way to work, if you want…” Miroslav’s shaking his head, a disgruntled groan parting from his throat, and Blake sighs.

 

“Usually this bad?” He asks, but there isn’t an answer for the first few seconds. The younger looks almost as thouh he’s trying to piece the words together, shaking his head slowly. “Do you want some tea or something to help you calm down? I can go make you some chamomile… you can just… y’know, t-talk to me, I guess. I’m familiar with how this sort of thing goes…”  a shaky smile was the only other thing he could force himself to give, before looking back down to Miroslav’s face. “You gonna be alright, man?”

 

 _No_ . No, he is absolutely _not_ going to be alright, not like this- not now. He feels like bursting into tears again, or else crawling back to his room and hiding forever. He wants to pretend that none of this ever happened, because now he’s shaky and upset and dammit, he probably _looks_ like he’s been crying, too. Even then, he doesn’t want Blake to move, because Blake is _warm_ , and he’s a warm body instead of cold sheets, and _dammit_ , he just needs this right now. He never would’ve thought a bunch of BDSM guys would make him crave the warmth of another person like this, but- but he just feels so weak.

 

He’s asking him something. It’s not getting through his head, not at first, until he recognizes the words: “this bad”. And he’s hiding his face, and trying to curl his knees up to his chest, because he’s ashamed, and he doesn’t want to explain _any_ of this. Not now.

 

“F- . . . Forgot my antidepressants. At home,” he says, trying not to sound completely miserable (and failing). “I h-had my lorazepam, b-but I ran out last week. C-Can’t see a doctor here for r-refills until next week,” he admits with a choked sob.

 

It’s the tone of his voice- on the verge of being utterly defeated, choking on his own words with those whimpers catching in his throat- that makes Blake want to cry too. Fuck, it hurts too much- seeing someone go through an anxiety attack, fall to pieces right in front of his eyes… he doesn’t know if he’s stable, if he’ll be able to be by himself today, take care of everything he needed to on his own…

 

“Hey, it’s okay, man… I understand.” Blake’s pulling away from him, sliding off the couch despite Miroslav’s questioning gaze, and rummaging around in the drawer his opens, a startled squeak leaving his mouth as he feels something sharp graze his finger. He shuts it, turns around and takes the ten steps he needs to be back at Miroslav’s side, kneeling next to the couch. There are tears staining his cheeks, crystalline droplets soaking reddened skin, and he’s running a hand through his hair, across his cheek with a frown.

 

“I thought you might need this,” Blake said, and he’s handing a bottle of pills to Miroslav, watching the other’s eyes light up in confusion, before evening out into realization. “They’re mine,” Blake murmurs quietly. “But, uh… for now… they can be yours? I guess. Just tryin’ to help, man.”

 

“Y-You too?” he’s asking quietly as he looks over the bottle. It’s the exact same thing - the same medication, same dosage. He’s tempted to crack it open and take one right now, but he’s not sure it’d do much anyway, at this point. He looks back to Blake, starting to shake again for an entirely different reason. “Y-You have it, t-too?”

 

The look in Miroslav’s eyes is nervous- almost uncertain, but he’s pausing and looking down at the bottle again, and Blake’s just nodding, giving him another soft smile as the younger clutches the bottle to his chest. “Yeah, kid. I have it too. It’s gonna be okay, Miroslav. We’re all here for you- want to see you do well. Just hold onto it.”

 

“Y-You’re sure?” he asks, again. Blake just shakes his head at him, wearing a little smile, and reaches out to take his hand. It’s not long before he’s tipping one of the pills into his hand, and Miroslav’s lifting it to his lips and swallowing it down gratefully. And then he’s clicking the bottle closed before reaching out, pulling Blake closer, hiding his face in his shoulder as he clings to him.

 

“Th-Thank you,” is all he can force out as he curls up and tries to hold onto him. “I-I’m sorry for f-freaking out . . .”

 

“Hey, no need for that,” the man says, pulling himself back up onto the couch and tugging Miroslav to his chest, resting the other’s head against his shoulder, still able to feel the shivers running up and down his spine as he presses his face into his neck, half clinging to Blake. Miroslav’s fingers are curling in his shirt, breath unsteady but impossibly warm against the side of his neck, and Blake’s just shaking his head, pulling Miroslav down so they’re lying, stretched out, across the black couch.

 

“Seriously, man. It’s like I said when you got here. We want you to be comfortable. I’m already dealing with this kind of stuff with Ana, so it’s not a big deal if I need to help you out from time to time. We’re friends, yeah? Just want you to feel better and succeed in what you’re doing. And besides, anxiety doesn’t suit you. Never want to see you being a mess of tears if they aren’t good tears,” he wipes the droplets building on Miroslav’s cheeks away, holding him closer. “It’ll get better. With time.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t even remember what the name of the movie was. All that he knows is that it’s a lot of action-y stuff, a bunch of swords, naked Scottish people . . . either way, it wasn’t super interesting, though he feels like it should be (he was not doing his Scottish heritage proud, it seemed). He suspects it would be more entertaining if he was paying full attention to it, but . . .

 

Nope. He’s fully distracted by the man beside him, seemingly riveted to the screen, and while a part of him wouldn’t think that Sylvain would be such a movie junkie, he’s also half-certain he’s doing it on _purpose_ . The two of them are already so close, hardly a handswidth between them on the couch . . . and Miroslav somehow knows. He know this had to be on _purpose_ , because it was only a half hour ago that Sylvain had pressed him against the wall of their room and told him “you understand what this punishment is for, right?” and, well, yes, he did. _Dammit_ , apparently missing _one box of tea_ when getting groceries was worthy of a punishment, or at least it did for Sylvain. It wasn’t even his _fault_ that they didn’t have chamomile-

 

And now he’s regretting it. Fully, because the harness beneath his clothes keeps tugging at him, no matter how he tries to sit. Against his chest, over his shoulders, even between his legs . . . _fuck_ . He can’t get comfortable, and he’s almost certain he’s wearing a flush on his face, but- dammit. _Dammit_ . He’s looking at Sylvain, completely uninterested in the movie this time, and _god_ , does he want to be closer, want his Master’s arms around him . . .

 

The fact that Miroslav’s shuddering, entirely too uncomfortable no matter what position he tries to shift himself into, is practically too pleasing for Sylvain. He’s squirming against the couch cushions, back arching forward in a manner that’s obviously meant to be unnoticeable, trying to pull himself away when the man’s eyes find his. Almost immediately, Miroslav goes rigid, noting Sylvain’s dark gaze fixed upon his body- and the older man doesn’t waste a second in tugging the man onto his lap, sitting him perfectly against his body.

 

Miroslav’s head is tucked into his shoulder, ear so close to his face that Sylvain could brush it with his lips, and he’s tugging on the lobe with his teeth, half smirking at the startled whimper he gains from it. “You knew it was my favorite kind of tea,” he says bluntly, hand stroking back dark locks of hair, pausing as he leverages Miroslav against him so his back’s against the arm of the couch, legs swung over his knees. “Can only imagine what you want me to do to you right now. Pin you down, make you cry out, call for your master like a good little slave… sometimes you’re such a minx, Miroslav. Love how tense you seem to be… can work out those kinks later.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” is all that can pass his lips as his master whispers to him, presses him down against the couch with that sly little smirk . . . _dammit_ , his harness keeps digging into him, pressing hard between his legs, and he can’t help the soft puffs of breath that he keeps releasing, can’t help the way he looks up at Sylvain with eyes that must be so desperate at this point.

 

 _God_ , he needs this contact . . . needs it closer, needs the comfort of it-

 

“Master,” he whispers, voice sounding almost too desperate to belong to him. He’s reaching up, trying to muffle a moan behind his lips as the harness digs into his skin under his shirt, trying to grab for his hand or his arm or-or _something_ . “M-Master, please,” he whimpers, unable to hide his words, already so _desperate_ \- “P-Please, n-need you closer, want to be h-held- _please_ , let me sit in your lap like a good slave-”

 

There’s an amused smirk that passes the older man’s lips, reflecting on his face in an almost deviously pleased manner, as he reaches down to ruffle Miroslav’s hair again, hand trailing over the exposed skin of his neck and upper chest. “Such a good boy,” he murmurs, almost doing so to rile the younger man up. “Master’s very pleased…”

 

Then he’s pulling Miroslav closer and letting him sit in his lap, back pressed flush against his chest and eyes wide, before he gives a tiny hum of contentment. Sylvain’s arms wrap around his waist, anchoring him in place as he presses a tiny kiss to his shoulder. “Love being with you like this.”

 

He’s so _warm_ . His arms around his waist, chest against his back, whispering in his ear like this . . . Miroslav can’t help but _gasp_. He’s grabbing his master’s hands as he sinks against him, tries to relax despite the rope and the arousal of his body, how hard he is inside his jeans . . . he tilts his head back just enough, just to press his cheek to Sylvain’s chest, and he lets out a shaky breath as he tries not to get aroused any further like this.

 

After all, they aren’t alone - everybody else is here, Anakin seemingly asleep in Blake’s lap and Acacia and Alexei sitting next to one another . . . and they’re all somewhat focused on the movie, whatever it is, but he can’t focus at all. Not when he’s hiding rope under his clothes, and not when Sylvain’s pressing tender kisses against his neck that are driving him insane. He tries to relax again, tries to keep his breath light - but Sylvain’s teasing a hand under his shirt, two fingers sliding under rope and pulling it taut, and Miroslav can’t hide the little moan as he strains against his bindings . . .

 

“Seriously, boys,” a heavily accented voice speaks up, and Sylvain turns to raise a brow at Acacia, who only rolls her eyes, hand playing with her messy blonde hair as she points to the hand underneath Miroslav’s shirt. “This is movie time. Not fucking time. Get a room.”

 

Sylvain’s half convinced he should be insulted at the comment, but instead offers her a shrug, pulling Miroslav even closer to his body, hand sliding against his thighs. “Acacia, you seem to have forgotten my motto. Do what you want, when you want, where you want.”

 

“I thought that that was Blake’s motto,” the woman replies, a slight laugh parting from her throat.

 

“It is,” the voice piped up from the floor, before a pillow was being thrown at the older man, an unamused Blake rolling his eyes. “Get your own words to live by, asshole.”

 

The pillow hits Miroslav, making him give an indignant squeak as Sylvain slides his hand back out from under his shirt, giving a smirk to his friend. “I didn’t know you were into pillow fights, Blake.”

 

“Oh, you would be surprised how much fun it can be.” His hand combs through Anakin’s hair gently, adjusting the sleeping man against his body. “Seriously though, Miroslav looks pretty red. What’d you do to the poor guy, Sylvain?”

 

“That’s for me to know,” Sylvain answered smartly, his hand finding Miroslav’s to take hold of it gently. “You’re fucking perfect, babe.”

 

“ _God_ ,” finally slips out of his mouth, louder this time as he presses himself back against Sylvain. He can’t hide his moan, either; he’s reaching up and teasing a hand into his master’s hair, trying to pull him down as he tilts his head to one side, exposing his neck. His head’s so goddamn foggy at this point - he’s not sure he really cares what Acacia or Blake is saying, only that he wants this so badly and the only thing stopping him is this place. He lets out a trembling sigh as his master finally presses his lips against his neck, sucks on the skin, pulling a longer moan out of him when he digs in teeth.

 

He hears an almost unamused chuckle from across the room. “ _Jesus_ , Sylvain,” he hears Alexei say, “What the hell have you two been doing in your off time? He looks like he’s been doing this for years and not weeks.”

 

Miroslav gasps. He grips Sylvain’s hand tighter. “M-Master’s just- g-good to me,” he gasps quietly. He sighs as Sylvain kisses his neck again, this time closer to his jaw- “So fucking g-good, warm, just- _god_ , can’t even handle this-”

 

“I’m going to go ahead and guess ropes, because I can’t see what the hell is making you so squeamish,” Alexei says in return. There’s silence for a moment, just the sound of a squeaking chair and footsteps, until Miroslav’s looking up and gasping as Alexei leans over him, lays a heavy hand on his shoulder.

 

They tilt their head to one side. Narrow their eyes as they trace a hand down his chest, over every line of rope, making Miroslav shake and muffle a sound between his lips. Alexei just gives him a wry smirk.

 

“A simple karada harness is tripping you out?” they ask. They give a low whistle, and look up and behind him. “Sylvain, you’re starting him out on the easy stuff and he’s a goddamn mess. Makes me wonder what’s going to happen when you completely restrain him - or when you get to suspension. _God_ , that’s going to be a sight to see.”

 

The laugh that leaves Sylvain’s lips when Miroslav arches his back, squirms against him and pushes into Alexei’s touch with a muffled moan is heady, amused. He lets his own hand slide down the young man’s spine, fingers trailing against the small of his back and teasing the curve of his spine, before pulling away, letting it trail around his waist to fiddle with the ropes hanging on his hips.

 

“He’s definitely not ready for suspension yet,” Sylvain says, half concerned and half mirthful about the way Miroslav’s shivering now, watching as Alexei pulls away, only for Acacia to kneel at his side as well, petite hands sliding Miroslav’s shirt up and smiling at the array of ropes underneath. “He is such a mess… so red and pretty… blushing like a virgin on her wedding night. Oh, Sylvain… you have worked him up so easily.” Her hand cups the bulge in Miroslav’s jeans, teasingly. “You are very aroused, Miroslav. Do you really like rope that much?”

 

“He does,” Sylvain brushes a hand through his hair. “Always such a good slave… don’t fret, Miroslav. An hour or so and you can take it off.”

 

A shattered gasp is breaking from his lungs, and he’s fucking _squirming_ , moaning outright as Acacia presses against his pants, rubs him through thick fabric that only serves to arouse him more. He can’t help it, the way he’s arching and trying to restrain himself, both hands gripping Sylvain’s as he tilts his head back and tries to get any sense of reasoning back-

 

“N- _No_ ,” spills from his lips somehow, and it’s like his whole head’s on display, all of his thoughts spilling out- “ _Fuck, love this, just leave me like this, please- need this, so badly-_ ”

 

“Jesus. Somebody send him a lifeline,” Alex jokes, and then he’s _really_ gasping, their hands firm on his thighs and pressing up, making him cry out - they’re laughing and pressing a kiss to his neck, touch firm up his stomach and against his chest-

 

“ _Anata wa, kore o shinaide kudasai sukidesuka? Omocha no yō ni uttori dareka-ra mo akirakana yō ni, hon, , no yō ni furete iru no ga daisuki... Anata wa, mirosurafu kono sukidesu ka? Anata wa masutā ga sore yori sukida to omoimasu - koto o ki ni shimasen ka? U ̄ n - kono yō ni, ima sugu anata o toru koto ga dekimasu-_ ”

 

He’s _crying out_ \- straining, a hand fisting their hair as they speak in that low, sultry Japanese he can hardly _understand_ \- he’s arching, straining, pressing back with a moan of “fuck- c-can’t handle this, I- _M-Master_ , _amai aijin_ -!”

 

There’s another breathy laugh, a word rasped in his ear just barely, in a soft tone that should hardly be as arousing as it is. It takes a second for Miroslav to register it, Acacia’s body pressed against his side, flingers trailing down his back as she whispers, “Desperate.”

 

Then she’s snapping the rope across his back and another word’s slipping free, this time in a tone slightly deeper than the last. “Little.”

 

Her fingers are working beneath the rope and sliding against his ass, half groping it before she mutters, darkly, “Whore.” And then she can watch Miroslav’s hips buck upward, pushing himself against Alexei as his legs slide apart further, ass half rutting against her hand and Sylvain’s thigh as he gives a long, delectable moan that she wants to savor, looking up at her as she taps his cheek.

 

“Come.”

 

He does, his erection straining in his pants, before he’s moaning and head is tilting back, toes curling, a sudden dark stain building in the fabric, though light enough it’s almost unnoticed.

 

“You’re such a good slave.” Sylvain’s hand runs through his hair. “So good for your Mistress and Master.”

 

“ _And_ his _aijin_ ,” Alexei cuts back. Miroslav can’t even think - head’s too cloudy to focus, legs squirming as he moans at the wetness in his jeans, his come sticky and wet again his softening cock . . . and then his head’s being tilted up, and somebody’s _kissing_ him, deeply, and he lets out another little whine as he’s pressed back, firmly against his master’s chest . . .

 

Dear _lord_ . Alexei pulls back and licks their lips, grinning down at him, and _god_ , is it arousing - does it make him want more, _more_ , want to come again like this surrounded by all of them, touching him like this- it’s so much, such a fucking rush. Miroslav tilts his head back and whimpers as Sylvain wraps both of arms around him, holding him closer, whispering soft words in his ears-

 

 _Cold_.

 

A shiver runs down his back, and he gasps and seizes up, shaking, curling inwards as he folds his arms in and bites on his lip-

 

“ _Shit_ . That might’ve been a little too much. Blake, pass me the blanket- no, fuck Anakin, he’s not dropping, is he? Acacia, we left a box of orange juice out, right?” there’s a warm hand against his cheek, and a sigh. “ _Jesus_. What a noobie, huh, Sylvain? At least he’s kinda cute, I guess. Hey, relax, Miroslav. S’just a little drop, happens to all of us every once in a while.”

 

“Yeah,” Sylvain murmurs, helping Miroslav to lie down on the couch, adjusting his body so the younger man’s head is in his lap. He's still trembling, looks practically on the verge of crying, curling up even tighter as Alexei throws the blanket over his suddenly small form, Miroslav's eyes focusing on Sylvain's face as they do.

 

“You're gonna be okay… just like that. Let your master hold you,” he murmurs as he hears the sound of a tea kettle whistling, turning to see Acacia in the kitchen, looking out at them with a soft smile that's almost bordering on a frown when she sets the timer for the tea to steep.

 

Miroslav seems to have stopped shaking, at least somewhat, curled on his side as his head pressed against Sylvain's body, tears soaking through on his shirt as the older man tries to repeat what Alexei had said. “Just a bit of a drop, Miro. We're here- all of us. Just want to take care of you.”

 

He feel exhausted. It’s settling into his bones like this, suddenly making him go lax against his master’s lap. He’s so cold, too - there’s a blanket being tossed over him, wrapped around him, and he pulls it up to his chin as he shivers and shakes. It’s disorienting; doesn’t feel right like this. It’s like he’s disengaged from reality, trapped inside of his head, and he’s gripping onto Sylvain’s shirt as he tries to pull in deep breaths . . . keep his head on his shoulders.

 

There’s a hand against his forehead, a mutter of “yeah - definitely subdrop, he’s freezing up a ton” before he’s giving a little whine and the hand’s going away. He- he has no idea who’s there, who’s around him, and he just wants to be held, coddled . . . he’s trying to sit up, and there’s a soft voice telling him to relax, but he’s pressing himself against his master’s chest and trying to readjust against his lap and he sighs at the warm arms wrapping around him.

 

“Master . . .” comes out softly, and he’s pressing his cheek to Sylvain’s collar with a sigh. He’s still so cold, but Sylvain’s like a fire, and he wants to press closer, wants- wants him to hold him, make sure he was alright. And it’s so nice already, the soft hand in his hair and the kisses to his forehead and . . . and against all logic, he wants it. Wants to be comforted like this, even as he shakes from the cold air around him.

 

He sighs, and he tugs his blanket higher, curled up from his toes to his chin. “Master, that was . . .” he mutters, and he’s being given another light kiss on his cheek, before he feels gentle hands under his shirt, beginning to unravel the knots against his body.

 

He’s telling Miroslav to relax, short, soft words that seems to slip through his ears, because the drop’s fading away and he seems so calm, all of a sudden, so much less tense than he had been before. The younger man is sighing, tucking the blanket up to his chin as hands work along his shoulders, making sure to work out all the knots and kinks in the muscle, pressing calming kisses to his face.

 

“I’m here, baby,” Sylvain’s murmuring, just holding him closer and letting him roll back against his body, keeping him still and steady as the other tosses and turns, still seemingly perturbed from the events, but relaxed in his breathing, clinging tightly to Sylvain without premise of letting go. “Love you. Gonna take care of you.”


	3. clarity

He can hear it just repeating over and over in his head, like some sort of goddamn mantra that he wants so desperately to get rid of, because his cheeks are red and his skin’s sweaty, and he’s still feeling that goddamn urge in his chest that’s telling him to _stop being a petty goddamn child, Anakin_ but he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, and everything hurts and all he can think is _fuck you fuck you fuck you!_

 

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, and he keeps telling himself that, but somehow the thought won’t even go through his head. It’s like there’s some sort of fucking mental block- like he’d just hit the fourth wall or something. Maybe he did, he doesn’t know. All he knows is he just wants to walk up to someone and punch them in the face and shake him by the shoulders until he just _stops talking,_ because even in his head, there are only his words, floating about in a canvas of space and he’s just trying to shove it off, pass it away like it’s some stupid song.

 

And for some reason he keeps thinking about whatever song he’d heard on the radio right after he’d gotten so upset he’d stop breathing, and metaphorical Seether keeps echoing in his head, so much he wants to shove his face in a pillow to muffle all the noise that’s cluttering up his brain. Because _I don’t want it there_ and _I don’t want to talk_ and _I hate fucking everything, leave me alone, leave me alone, get out-_

 

There’s just a sickness settling in his body, and all of a sudden the urge to vomit is so great that he can hardly hold it in anymore, and he’s leaning over and dropping onto his knees and before he can help it, bile’s filling his mouth and he’s leaning forward and retching all over the goddamn floor. He’s choking on it, heaving for breath, feels so sick he’s practically hyperventilating and there’s an odd sort of calm settling in his head all of a sudden.

 

There’s a knock at the door. There’s a knock at the door, and he doesn’t want to answer, but he does anyway, spitting out a venomous “Shut the fuck up! Go away! Forget about me! I’m fine! Everything’s fuckin’ peachy keen in here! Get fucking _lost.”_

 

He doesn’t think he really means it. He doesn’t ever really mean it. Because honestly, Anakin’s like an open book ninety percent of the time, and just talking’s usually how he relieves stress, but he doesn’t want to keep it up, can’t keep doing _this_ to everyone. Making them so goddamn upset because he can’t keep his own emotions in check. And yeah, maybe it’s partly the mania talking, and that urge to just _rip everybody’s head off and make them suffer and tear off their flesh and cut out their eyes and show them exactly how I goddamn feel ninety five percent of the time…_

 

There’s another part of him that doesn’t know what the urge is. Because he keeps telling himself _stop acting like a petty brat, you moron. You’re so stupid. Always so stupid, acting like your problems are the end of the bleeding world when you don’t even have shit to complain about. It’s just a few little emotions. Everyone else can deal with theirs. Hold them in like they’re supposed to. Why are you an exception? Such a little weakling, aren'tcha? Everyone hates you at this point, you know-- 'cause you never do a goddamn thing you’re supposed to, just run off crying and screaming every time somebody says something you don’t like._

 

He wants to tell the dialogue to shut up, but he can’t.

 

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying, because the door’s opening and Sylvain’s standing there, not even Blake, but _motherfucking Sylvain,_ and he’s just shaking his head and looking down and trying not to say anything because he shouldn’t speak. He shouldn’t be allowed to fucking speak because he’s still upset and it’s not even going to fix anything.

 

It doesn’t even help that the person standing there isn’t someone he wants to see right now. Doesn’t help that there’s absolutely no fucking relief from seeing him, no relief like he wants there to be, not even any words other than a raised brow and a scoff because _you don’t even care about me_.

 

He doesn’t say anything when the door just closes again and footsteps are echoing away down the hall, and he’s just looking down at his vomit covered hands and questioning _what the hell do I do now?_ He doesn’t want to bother cleaning up, so he just wipes them on his shirt and pulls himself up and lays down against the bed lined with black blankets… that one pink one under it that he doesn’t let anyone see because he’d get called some name for it and doesn’t want people to think of him like that.

 

Before Anakin can figure out anything else, he just decides that it’s a good time to curl up into a ball and cry. So that’s what he does, just curls up into a ball and lets the sob part from his throat and shakes his head and says “No. No, no, no. Nonononono.” He’s trying not to think, trying to keep his mind on anything but himself, but then he’s looking up at the bedside table and spotting the ibuprofen lying on it, and he doesn’t even fucking care, he just starts pouring them out into his hands, doesn’t even stop at the dosage he’s supposed to because _they aren’t even strong enough_ and he’s just putting them in his mouth one by one and swallowing.

 

He can feel his skin tingling and his mind numbing and everything burning because _this is wrong. It’s so wrong, you shouldn’t be doing it, not like this._ But he is anyway, just taking more and more pills and putting them in his mouth as though it could somehow make the _nonexistant_ pain stop and-

 

He’s vomiting again before he can stop himself, and there are a bunch of little red tablets on the floor in a huge mess of orange and yellow and… _is that fucking blood?_ But it isn’t, and he knows that because a few seconds later it’s changing color and he’s rubbing his eyes and _it’s all in my head, all of it, just in my head, calm down._

 

He wants someone to hold him but there’s never going to be anybody to fucking hold him because all he wants to do is scream at them, so he’s collapsing on his side and rolling up as tight as he can on top of the blankets and trying to sleep.

 

* * *

  


The sound of loud retching seemed to stop after a few seconds, startling Acacia as she set her book down on the coffee table, propping herself up on her elbows to look in the direction of… Blake and Anakin’s room. Trying not to shift the other figure, whose head was pressed to her chest, snoring softly, she takes a deep breath. Her hand brushed through Alexei’s hair, trying to shove the thought out of her mind, but...

 

It was almost worrisome, even with the lack of sound at this point- something just felt… off, making her give a glance down at Blake, still asleep in the chair opposite her, and Miroslav, standing near the teapot, though it hadn’t even been turned on.

 

“Miroslav?” She asked. “Would you please go check on something for me?”

 

He already knows what she wants him to do - he’d heard it too, just the sound alone sinking what felt like stones into his stomach. Even the sounds painted quite the scene too, all of the shouting and the . . . well, all of it. Not to mention that Sylvain walked out minutes ago, without hardly a word, dressed for a jog . . .

 

He doesn’t feel like any of this is good. So, Miroslav just looks at Acacia and nods.

 

“I’ll go check on him,” he says softly. He turns and walks down the hallway, first passing by Anakin’s room - he could already smell it, the vomit, and it’s no doubt that there’s going to be some nasty clean-up work to do. So he hits the bathroom first, finds a bucket to fill with water and a bottle of bleach before grabbing them and the mop. And then he approaches Anakin’s room again, quietly, before setting the bucket down and giving a soft knock.

 

No answer.

 

“Hey, Anakin?” is all he calls, softly. “Just wanted to check on you . . . you up?”

 

Again, nothing. Not that he expected fireworks, but . . . damn. Miroslav opens the door softly, peeks in - as he thought, two patches of vomit, and smelling rank too. And then there’s Anakin, curled up on the bed, shaking with his hands pressed over his ears . . .

 

He bites his lower lip. _Mania_ ? He thinks. Then: _cycling. I think that’s what it was called_. He sighs and closes the door behind him before setting the bucket and the bleach down, looking at the first stain with a sigh.

 

“I’m just going to . . . clean up, first,” he says, softly. Then, when he sees the second puddle, and the lingering pills, he puts the mop down and crosses over to the bedside table. Miroslav takes the bottle of ibuprofen and puts it in his pocket before returning to the mop.

 

“You haven’t tried taking any of them again?” he asks, softly. Even without an answer, he’s not sure he minds. He just picks up the mop, gets it wet, and starts cleaning up what he can.

 

There’s just shaking. He can’t even make out the words, not really, other than bits and pieces in the midst of the static. His mind is still half racing, the words just replaying over and over and over, like a goddamn record that he’s so sick of he doesn’t know how to contain it. He’s trying to breathe, but it’s getting caught in his throat and making him choke up, hands trembling as he pulls them away from his ears, the vomit stained shirt still too loose on his body, lower body barely covered by the length of the oversized cloth.

 

His hair’s matted, too, tangled in ways he didn’t think it could be, his eyes wide still, and frightened as he glances up to Miroslav, and then he’s just thinking _fuck, why was I so loud? He didn’t need to see this, nobody… nobody needed to see this, no. No no no. I fucked up. I fucked up, and I’m such a goddamn idiot._

 

The mop’s being set against the wall, half resting there, and in a half-stupor, Anakin’s almost worried Miroslav’s going to leave him. Before he can even move, there’s a cry parting from the redhead’s lips, sitting up and reaching for him, giving a breathy gasp.

 

“Sorry.” The word feels almost foreign on his lips. Anakin bites down on his split lip again as he reiterates, adding softly, “Um, are you… alright? Like… did I make you upset? Or… shit.”

 

Miroslav draws his brow together with a frown. “No, I’m not upset . . . moreso worried. Blake’s asleep in the other room and Acacia was pinned down with Alex. And anyways . . . you don’t look or sound real good,” he says. Anakin seems to be looking at him with wide eyes, like he wants to cry, and Miroslav shakes his head and places his hand against his forehead. “Shh,” he goes as Anakin closes his eyes. “Yeah, just close your eyes. It’s like . . . like a bad drop. We’ll take care of this, okay?”

 

He’s stepping away and grabbing the mop again. He’d cleaned up both of the stains; he just needed to disinfect, so he’s unscrewing the bleach and pouring some of it on the floor, before mopping it all up and dunking the mop one last time. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, and he rushes to the bathroom to put away everything before returning to Anakin’s bedside. He sits down on the edge of the bed as Anakin looks back up at him again. He’s still shaky, eyes so small and terrified. He’s covered in vomit, too, and pale. Too pale.

 

Miroslav sighs and reaches down to help Anakin sit up.

 

“Come on . . . let’s get you a shower, first,” he says. With that said, he’s slinging Anakin’s arm over his shoulder and pulling him up, helping him stumble out of the room.

 

He’s uncertain if he can do anything other than cry at this point, let alone walk, but he’s trying to swallow back his emotions, make Miroslav think that… that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, that he was okay now, that he wasn’t going to fuck up again… but everything’s so crazy, and it’s like he’s mind’s been put into a blender and cut up so many fucking times he’s forgotten everything. He isn’t even sure he can say anything else, Anakin’s voice almost painful in his throat.

 

And then Miroslav’s pulling him into the bathroom and opening the shower curtain and he’s just shaking his head. “Don’t wanna get clean. Wanna… wanna go to bed. Back to bed. Feels better there. Wanna cry… just let me? Need to just… don’t mind me. Sorry. Thanks, I guess… I just… I just want to pass out. Just spend a few days passed out… or longer. Don’t want to… t _-think.”_

 

He can’t hide the genuine surprise on his face when Miroslav helps him into the shower anyway, shaking his head. “Why are you being so nice? I fuck up all the time… I know you hate me. Like Sylvain. So you shouldn’t be taking care of me… you should’ve just left me there. Fuck… fuck all of this… why am I… _thank you_ … just... thanks?”

 

He really _was_ out of it. It’s a wonder he can speak at all, but even though he’s not sure he’s actually lucid enough to mean anything, Miroslav just gives him a smile anyway. He reaches down and starts pulling his clothes away, an action that just seems to make Anakin shake even more, though he puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

 

“Don’t mention it, okay? We’re friends. And like I’ve said before, I’ve never hated you,” he says as he turns on the shower. Anakin yelps and shakes; Miroslav helps pull him out of the stream and checks the water again, waits for it to get warm before letting Anakin back in. He’s still shaking at the cold air against his body, still looks like he’s ready to fall apart, but at least he’s staying there, gnawing on his lower lip until it’s bleeding, and Miroslav just gives him another soft smile as he wipes the blood on his chin away with his thumb.

 

“If you wanna talk about it, we can,” he says simply. His eyes trace the shower walls, looking for something to help; he starts with gel, dropping a bit into his hands and lathering it up so he can start cleaning off Anakin’s shaking, shivering body. “In the meantime,” he says, “I’ll help you out until Blake wakes up. Hopefully he won’t be long, but I figured you needed somebody a little more . . . immediately.”

 

The water’s practically stinging his skin wherever it hits, making Anakin tense up and come undone with another mess of tears, shaking his head and pulling in on himself as he tries to nod his head enough that it’ll mean something to Miroslav. He doesn’t think there’s anything to be said anymore, half wants to grab his tongue and cut it out of his mouth so he doesn’t keep fucking everything up like this, making it worse by talking about shit nobody needs to care about…

 

“So when I was younger… I… I was really… a mess. Did a lot of bad things. Like… hurting people? My mom, my sister… and everyone… then I got upset and I tried to… off myself. And then everyone left… and then Blake was there when I started in college and… he made me feel worth something? Sylvain too… g-good things, y’know? But I fucked up… I fucked up like I always do, and now he hates me… Blake doesn’t know enough, or he'd hate me too, know he fuckin' would. I wanted to tell him… 'bout everything.” He shivers as the water trails down his back, body going frigid. “Medications… nothing worked? A-and then… when I was off… like _this._ Parents just hated it. Friends don’t get it. So I been skipping most of my stuff in school… thought I wanted to actually do something with my life. Now I can’t. I j-just…”

 

He doesn’t think he should say anymore, just shaking his head and pressing his back against the wall of the shower, shutting his eyes and looking away from Miroslav even when he opens them, hands held up and across his bare, ink-covered torso, crying louder. “D-don’t touch me… you should go if you want. I'm not gonna ruin you too. Like everything else… fuck, make it go away, make it--?” _Please don’t leave me._

 

It’s harsh. Harsh to hear, harsh to register - Miroslav gives a frown and finally sits at the edge of the tub, watching Anakin as he pulls in on himself. He’s still crying, half agonized already . . . it’s unpleasant to watch. Both to watch and understand.

 

Miroslav sighs and reaches up to tuck his hair back. He meets Anakin’s eyes, and props up one leg to lay his arm across.

 

“You know . . . I sort of get what you mean.”

 

Anakin’s eyes go wider. Miroslav shrugs and sighs.

 

“I was sort of overlooked for a while, after my brother got into street fights and all of that stuff. He was always the one people were worried about, so the day things went bad and he got a bullet lodged above his knee, everybody was on him like white on rice. I was . . . what, fifteen? And _nobody_ noticed that I was having a panic attack at the hospital until one of the nurses pointed it out. And then when it persisted, I was the one that had to go to the doctors to get a diagnosis.”

 

Anakin seems to relax, just slightly, his shoulders less hunched than before. Miroslav looks down at the floor.

 

“My parents didn’t really care that I had anxiety - Chase was the one who’d been causing all of the trouble in the first place, and he was at risk for an amputated leg and physical disability his whole life. So I started acting out, much in the same way Chase had. Thank god I got out of it when I came to university - I started getting a real handle on my life, then - but you know, my parents loved me. They loved me and my brother and sister. They just had no idea how to respond when their kids were acting up,” he stops. He looks up and stares at the wall, pulling in a breath. “I got pretty distant for a while there. Spent a few years just . . . out of touch. And it sucked, you know? My mom and dad got divorced while I was gone and I had no chance to talk to either of them about it. By the time I decided to make amends, my mom had completely forgotten that I was anything but a problem child and just got . . . clingy. So now she keeps a close eye on my brother and I, and prizes my sister above all else.

 

“I guess I can’t say I have it worse, or even remotely similar. But . . . I guess I get what you’re going through? We’ve both done some real stupid things and lost some real good people. But I figure it’s the things we do after all of that which makes the difference,” he looks back to him, and shrugs once more. “I dunno. Bunch of bullshit, I guess. Sorry; I haven’t talked about my family in a while. And people wonder why so many of us go to therapy, right?”

 

He can’t stop himself from reaching out and pulling Miroslav back against him, burying his face in messy dark hair, arms clinging to his back so tightly he’s half worried Miroslav will break. He’s giving a tired hum, trying to think of what he can say other than “I’m sorry,” which isn’t nearly enough. And then he’s tensing up even more, especially when he feels one of Miroslav’s arms around his back, and he’s blinking, looking down at him and chewing his lip again.

 

“You can talk to me… whenever you need me? Like, I’m not very good at the emotions thing… social cues… can’t read them. But… I’m alright at giving advice, at least, and listening, and… well, I’ve hugged Blake and held him when he was having anxiety attacks, talked him out of it. It’s not fun… any of it, mate, nothin' like that is. And I don’t think you should have to go through something like that alone if you's feelin' shit.” He’s taking a deep breath. “So I had some anxiety too, for awhile… before I met Blake… this guy, my first roommate? We did a lot of drugs together. One night I did too much and, well... yeah. He put a pretty fucking rank video up online too. I’d never… never talked about that kind of stuff with anyone before. I didn’t even really care about sex or anything, I guess… it’s just a way of coping now.”

 

He pulls away, looks back down at his feet, before opening the shower to step out, eyes flitting back up to Miroslav’s face. “People always thought I was crazy when I was a kid… like, at school. Used to tell the teachers that I was going to blow up the school or kill my parents or some shit like that. Even locked me in a locker once when I was getting dressed. It was… fucked, really. But I dealt with it. You know, it was fuckin' Detroit- not like I was the only one dealing with pain and misery on a daily basis. Swear fuckin' eighty percent of the kids get called out for violence… so when I snapped, wasn’t exactly different.”

 

He pauses, uncertain. “Is it wrong that I like you? Like… really like you. Uh… well, I mean, not to sound creepy or anything, but… yeah, you’re a chill dude? Like… you make me feel better, I guess. Same way Blake does, and… shit, I’m rambling. Goddammit. I-I tend to do that when I’m upset. Pretty depressed… I wanna go sleep for a century."

 

“Yeah . . . sleep would probably be a good idea,” Miroslav says softly. He’s not really sure he has any clothes to give him, not like this, but . . . okay. Okay. Telling that story was . . . overwhelming. He’s brushing off his forehead, and looking down with slight annoyance at how wet he is now (his upper body was pulled into the stream, so that was nice). Still, wet is better than vomit-covered, he figures as he tugs his shirt over his head and helps Anakin into it. It’s a big baggy on him, but it’s better than most anything else he wore. He’s bony, though; Miroslav wonders if there was something more he could be doing to help, but . . .

 

He’s tired. Both of them are. He’s pulling Anakin’s arm over his shoulder again and helping him out of the bathroom, back down to the end of the hall.

 

“Just wanna see if Blake’s awake,” he says to him softly before they peek past the wall into the living room. He _is_ up - rubbing at his eyes, still somewhat dazed, though he looks up at them and immediately goes wide-eyed at the sight.

 

“Hey,” he says with a slight wave. “Anakin was . . . um. He was having some issues, earlier. Figured you’d be able to help him out from he-”

 

Blake’s walking past him and pulling Anakin into his arms without a second of hesitation. Miroslav sighs and steps away, wiping at his forehead again; he can feel all of it crawling up the back of his neck, all of the talk, and it’s beginning to weigh down his shoulders.

 

Blake’s more worried than he thinks he’s been in awhile, because he’d heard the noises in his sleep, half thought to pass them off as a dream- and then waking up to this is almost unreal. It frightens him, makes him grab Anakin closer, and tighter, arms wrapped around the taller, but much thinner, frame as he tries to console his crying lover. There are tears staining his face again, looking down to the ground, before he’s gasping out, “B-Blake, I’m sorry… sorry? Didn’t mean to… just wanted the pain to go away. Make everything black like I used to, you get me. He wouldn’t shut up- him, his voice… he wasn't--?”

 

“Shh…” the older man’s saying, running a hand down his back, before leaning down to slide his other hand around Anakin’s shaking knees, pulling him off the floor with a bit of a groan, before hefting him in his arms the best he could. “It’s okay now, baby. I’ve got you… Miroslav helped you out?” He nods quickly, Blake turning to Miroslav and breathing out a quick, “Thanks… I don’t know what you did but… he’s more relaxed than he usually is after a crash.”

 

“Miro…” Anakin half whines, reaching out to try and pull at the black haired man’s shoulder, trying to bring him closer as he gave a half whine. “C'mon... lie down with us?” He glances back to Blake for permission, sucking the bloodied lip back into his mouth with a half groan at the pain of saliva against the open wound.

 

“Do you want to?” Blake asks quietly. “He’s… really taken a liking to you. Not usually like this with people he hasn’t known for a year or more, but…?”

 

It’s nice, honestly, to see how much Anakin is trusting him. It’s almost sort of cute, too; he looks smaller like this, though more likely because he seems so exhausted. Miroslav’s almost tempted to say yes, too, but . . .

 

He grabs Anakin’s hand and gives him a soft smile. “Just get some rest, okay? I still have chores to do, or else I get a big red sticker, right?” he says. And Anakin seems to accept that, gives him a little nod for it at least. And then he’s tucking his face against Blake’s chest with a tired sigh, and Miroslav’s letting go his hand with a nod as Blake gives him one last look and walks back into the hallway. It’s only when he hears the door to their room open and shut that he finally gives a long, tired sigh.

 

And then he slides down the wall he’s leaning against and puts his head against his knees.

* * *

 

He almost wants to laugh. He was . . . was holding up so well, too. But now his head is nearly spinning, the way Anakin had related all of that to him, the downward spiral and the abuse and all of it . . . and then pulling up his own memories. The time he’d been in that hospital, looking at his pale brother stretched out on the bed, trying to leave and collapsing in that doorway where only the nurses noticed he’d fallen. They’re not great memories to hold or relish or anything; even seven years later, when so much has changed, it haunts him, to know that nobody, not even his mother or sister, had noticed or cared enough to help him. Because back then, he wasn’t stirring the same sort of trouble.

 

He sighs, and puts a hand to his head. He hopes that Acacia can’t see him from here; not like this. He’s exposed and shivering at the cold air, dragging fingers through his hair over and over and over again so much he’s sure he’s pulling out his own locks. The only thing that makes him look up is a soft sound - and even then, he only lifts his eyes. He’s not sure he can reveal the crumpled features of his own face yet.

 

“Hey,” and there’s a hand stretching out to rest on Miroslav’s shoulder, fingers tilting his head up so Sylvain can look at his lover, almost terrified at how pale he looks, how his hands are still shaking, hair half-wet and somewhat messed, hand against his brow, pushing in harshly. “You okay?” And there’s no response, not for the first few seconds, but then Miroslav’s crying and fisting hands in his shirt and pulling him closer, pressing his face against Sylvain’s chest as the much taller man leans down to pull him to his feet, letting Miroslav’s weight rest against his own sore, tired body as he tries to maneuver him toward their room.

 

He’s still shaking against him, breathing unsteady, and Sylvain’s just kissing his forehead, taking him inside to sit him on the bed, kicking his shoes off before rolling down and onto his back, pulling Miroslav tightly to his side. He isn’t speaking, but isn’t seeming to have an anxiety attack either, aside from some shaking, a heavy breath here and there… the look in his eyes is lucid, though, and Sylvain’s tucking his head to his chest, looking down at him and asking, softly, “What happened?”

 

Jesus, that’s a loaded question. It’s almost too much to handle, too much to try and answer. He swallows and tries to press out words, but they’re only taken over by sobs, and he’s pressing his face against Sylvain’s chest again as he tries to pull his words back together.

 

“J-Just-” he stops, and sobs, and tries to breathe again. “A-Anakin cycled. Bad. T-Told me a lot of stuff and just . . . b-bad memories, okay? I’m sorry, Master. I don’t mean to cause trouble-” but Sylvain is resting a hand in his hair, trying to shush him. He curls himself against the other, tries to take in every bit of body heat he think he can. Sylvain’ so warm, holding him so gently and firmly at the same time; tender but strong, strong enough to leave him feeling safe again.

 

He’s not sure why, but Sylvain just has that way with him. Miroslav isn’t sure that it’s just the bondage and the ropes and the punishments and all of the sultry things they seemed to get into; it’s been two months since they started living together, and he’s almost convinced that there’s more to it than the sex - something he just doesn’t have words for right now. He’s not sure he’d ever have the words for it, honestly.

 

Even so, Sylvain’s still trying to comfort him, brush his hair back with little shushes, and Miroslav pulls in a deep breath and finally tries to say it. “M-My disorder- it got t-triggered after my brother got in an accident. And I just sort of . . . self-destructed. Like Anakin. I’m still trying to- pick up pieces. Th-That’s all. Bad memories.”

 

“Memories, huh?” He asks, hand running through Miroslav’s hair, stroking it back behind his ears and brushing through the little wet tangles in front, trying to even them out as he presses another chaste kiss to Miroslav’s forehead, pulling the younger further against his chest and offering him a soft frown. His voice is half shaky when he adds, “I’m very sorry, Miroslav… you know you can talk to me if you ever need to.”

 

And then he’s thinking back in his own mind, thoughts jumbled up and half crushing him as he lets his arm caress Miroslav’s lower back, allowing the younger to cling to him in that still half-trembling embrace. He wonders if it’s wrong, how much he likes Miroslav, wants to help him break free from this anxiety the best he could… how Miroslav makes him feel appreciated and needed, in a way that practically nobody else had. There’s a sense of happiness that surges through his chest whenever he looks at the man, thinking about just how perfect he is even in his imperfections…

 

Feeling him shake and shudder against his body like this, everything aching and eyes closed tightly as if trying to shut out some unknown enemy, makes him feel… sad, almost. Melancholy, maybe… also a tad angry. But he’s trying to shove that back, bury it in his mind, unsure of whether he should say anything. _Anakin shouldn’t be forcing his problems on you,_ is all he can think, but he knows that he really shouldn’t, tries to get rid of the thought…

 

It brings up bad memories of his own, he thinks, repositioning Miroslav’s head against the side of his neck, breathing in deeply. “I’ve got you, Miroslav… anything that causes you pain in mine to share in- at least from the pain aspect. You know I don’t like to see you hurt.” Sylvain’s murmuring words to him, still stroking his cheek, other hand sweetly drawing lines along the cool skin of his arm, surprised at how bare he is. _Is it wrong that I never held Anakin like this when we were together?_ He has to ask himself, but he tries to bury that thought with everything else. _Miroslav is different. He’s more… curved along the edges. Not sharp or rough. He’s… mine. He’s perfect._

 

It’s almost ironic, he thinks. It’s so ironic he almost wants to laugh. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” It’s funny, thinking back, the last punishment having _just_ introduced him to masochism, tied up and nipples clamped and his back gently flogged until he cried out for mercy . . . but even still. He thinks he knows what Sylvain means. Emotionally, that feeling in his gut, like everything was going to fall out from under him and he was going to collapse and sink and sink until he never got out of his hole of mental self destruction . . . it’s horrifying. It’s been more than one night that he’s woken up like that, though . . . not here. Not yet. That was a long time ago, and that had more serious consequences.

 

But Sylvain is here, at least. His Master, comforting him, when he’s supposed to be his slave in so many senses of the word . . . but it’s nice. So nice, like some kind of aftercare, and he’s sinking into it all the more willingly, head lying against his chest. “I like it when you hurt me,” is all he mutters. And then he lifts his head and looks up, and gives him a sad smile. “It’s . . . okay. Really. In the past. I’m . . . I’m getting over it. Just got triggered, is all.”

 

Sylvain gives him that look - the one he can’t place, somewhere between strict and stern and disbelieving and worried. Miroslav just closes his eyes and shakes his head. He lets his hands trail under Sylvain’s shirt and pushes it up, bares his chest so he can press his own to bare skin, lies against him with his head tucked against his neck.

 

“W-Would you rather I hurt in a different way, Master?” he asks quietly, almost teasing. He reaches down and slides his thumb against Sylvain’s chest, flicks at one of his pert nipples, already hard from the temperature of the room. He gives a breathless, humorless giggle as he pinches and squeezes, just to feel the blood flooding his skin. “It never hurts badly with you,” he finally whispers. “Just- good. So good, Master Sylvain.”

 

“Don’t try and avoid the subject, Miroslav,” Sylvain responds knowingly, letting his hand tilt the younger man’s head up until he can look directly into his eyes, read the emotion that was still clinging there. As attractive as Miroslav could be when he said such things, the submissive and teasing lilt of his tone that came out so often during sex… this wasn’t the time for that. It wasn’t the time for it, and Miroslav knew that.

 

“Are you okay?” Sylvain asks again, trying to search his face for any sense of emotion that would really betray itself, because even though Miroslav’s warm now, pressed up against him and safe, his voice still sounds… false. Like he’s saying something that he doesn’t really mean. Trying to avoid what really needed to be helped. “Think of this as aftercare, okay?” He asked, thumb rubbing Miroslav’s cheek. “Just be here with me.”

 

Even then, his mind is still focused on how shaken Miroslav had looked, the tears on his cheeks and how upset he’d sounded, and he has to question what exactly Anakin had done to make him upset. And then he can’t hold it back any longer, saying softly, “I’m going to need to tell Anakin not to bother you with his… issues. It isn’t fair to you.” Sylvain has to wonder if it’s too harsh, because Miroslav’s suddenly just a little too still, and he’s trying to shove it off again. “But that’s for later… I just want to hold you for now. Take care of you until your headspace is back to normal.”

 

Miroslav shakes his head. “No; it’s fine. I went to talk to Anakin on my own. Besides, Blake was asleep, and Anakin’s my friend. He was . . . he was in bad shape, Sylvain. He’d tried to swallow a bunch of pills.” At the look he gives him - slightly-wider eyes, the only indication he had of any sort of surprise - Miroslav nods. “Yeah. It was lucky he threw them up, or he could’ve OD’d. As it was, he wasn’t in a good headspace when I got to him. So I helped clean him up and passed him off to Blake when I could. Figured it was for the better . . .”

 

Jesus. It’s so much to recollect, and so much to talk about when his own past is bubbling up in his head, trying to make him choke all over again. He sighs and presses his face against Sylvain’s chest again. “It was . . . okay. I t-told him about that part of the story on my own. So don’t blame him; I was the one who . . .”

 

He hides his face in Sylvain’s chest. Along his hips, he feels a memory of pain.

 

There's a sudden guilt in Sylvain's chest, something that's almost overwhelming, so painful that he isn't sure he's hiding it well. He's thinking about his brother and the funeral and _what Anakin fucking did to me_ but then he’s considering the crying and the violent mood swings and thinking about what Miroslav just said and… it's overwhelming. And _if I had gone in to talk to him, would it have been better?_ It's terrifying that he isn't even sure.

 

He's still trailing fingers through Miroslav's hair lazily, giving a tiny hum as he presses a kiss to his forehead again. “It's hard, with memories… especially after everything that you've been through… but now you're going to be taken care of, Miroslav. Please. Let me take care of you.” Sylvain is sighing, loudly, looking away. “I'm sorry for what I said. We have… history. I wasn't thinking that… he would do something like that again.” He tries to shut the thoughts out, kissing Miroslav again. “Besides, you're my first priority. I love you.”

 

“Mmm,” is all he’s willing to say to that, already letting his eyes close as he curls against him - his master. He’s at least safe like this, held tightly, face kissed gently as he tries to make him relax . . . and that, he cherishes. It’s warm and familiar and that’s all he wants right now, just wants to be coddled for a little bit, despite it all.

 

He lets out a little sigh. “I’d hate to think that we’re all damaged,” he mutters. “It hurt to see Anakin like that. I’d hate to think that the rest of us are the same way,” he says as he nuzzles Sylvain’s shoulder, leaving a little kiss to the skin there. “It’s . . . complicated. But it’s okay. We’re going to figure it out, right . . .? S’okay. All okay,” he presses up and leaves a kiss to Sylvain’s lips, quick and chaste, before pulling back and lying on his chest again. “So . . . I know it’s changing the subject, Master, but . . .” he reaches down and pinches his nipple again, moreso than anything to feel his blood under his master’s skin again, less so than his own beneath his skin and his scars. “How are you going to punish me next . . .? You can’t just punish me with ropes anymore, Master . . .”

 

“That's where you're wrong, my dear,” Sylvain says, a sly, knowing smirk on his face as he slides his own hand down Miroslav's body, between his legs to tease the hotness of his crotch, his other hand sliding against his neck, tracing fingers along his jugular. “We haven't gotten to suspension yet… but I have other plans, too. Painplay… asphyxiation, marking, belting… if you think you can take it. Not really sure you'd be able to. Saw you get so worked up from such a simple tie just a little while ago.”

 

He can’t hide the half-moaned sigh when Sylvain starts teasing him, fingers flicking every so idly against his cock, beginning to harden under the ministrations. Miroslav can feel his body tensing up just from that, and from the words; it sounds so good. Being tied up, being hurt, all of it . . . he’s curling his legs up a little more, pressing his cheek to Sylvain’s chest as he moans again, trying to hold him closer.

 

“Y-You could tie me up . . . s-spank me, Master,” he says quietly. Then, he adds: “I’ve seen the stuff you do to Ana and Alex. S’just . . .” he moans again, shivers from the notion. “Wanna be filled up, tied up, at your mercy as you punish me . . . _fuck_ , might just screw up on purpose, I want it so badly, Master . . .”

 

“Shh…” Sylvain whispers. “You'll get more if you're a good little slave… I'll tie you down against this bed, maybe, spread you apart until you're half soaked with precum and flushed red… tease that pretty hole of yours before I grab a paddle… gonna smack your ass with it till it looks raw. And you'll sit there, and you'll take it, because you're such a good boy. You'll moan for me and beg me to fuck you…” he trails off.

 

“But that's for later, sweetheart. Just something to keep you in suspense, make you such a desperate little slave for your master. Might even make you wear a cock cage, slide a vibrator in that tight ass of yours for awhile… until I'm ready to actually play with you. Oh, you like that? Cute.”

 

He _does_ like it. He likes it so much that he’s whimpering, twisting against him, half-ready to just press against him from how hard he is, how aroused - but _god_ , does it sound good. Does he want it like that, tied up and at his mercy. He’s gasping a little “ _yes_ ” and almost squirming as he wraps his arms around Sylvain’s shoulders, clings to him a little more.

 

“I b-bet I can take it . . . g-get it sooner. T-Tomorrow’s my turn to get groceries, r-right?” He meets Sylvain’s eyes. He can feel himself blush, and he kisses his clavicle nicely before saying, “I think we’re out of chamomile tea. A-And . . . _damn_ , I don’t remember what brand you like. M-Maybe the store won’t have any of it at _all_ . . .”

 

He’s giving a rough sigh, eyes flitting down to Miroslav’s face, before leaning forward to smash his lips against his roughly, his hands shaking as he forces them across the younger’s wrists, holding them tight against the sheets and pressing him down into the bed. It’s a mere number of seconds before Sylvain’s teeth find his throat, digging them into pale skin until he can hear a soft yelp emanate from Miroslav’s lips, looking up at him through half lidded eyes as a single warning leaves his mouth.

 

“Don’t threaten the tea.”

 

And then he was slipping his hands lower, tugging his pants down in one quick motion with hands locking onto his hips, holding them in place even as Miroslav tried to rut against him, regain some semblance of power like he’d had when he was being such a fucking minx and teasing him, but Sylvain’s fastening the clothing around his hands, pulling it tight around his thin wrists and holding it in place as the knot is pulled tight.

 

“You’re going to be a good little slave and do what I say,” he says, harshly, his hands on either side of Miroslav’s head as he leans in, their faces mere millimeters apart, his own breath hot, making Miroslav’s skin flush redder and redder as it continues to hit it. “Now, beg your master. If I like it, reward. If I don’t…”

 

He’s completely taken off guard; he didn’t expect Sylvain to move so fast, and to even do what he’d done, and he’s breathless as he feels his hands being tied above his head, as he’s pinned down under Sylvain’s weight. And _god_ , he’s so close, Miroslav can hardly register the words, and he can’t even think past the sudden buzz in his head-

 

“F-Fuck, Master . . .” he breathes, and Sylvain raises a brow at him, testing him, and he has to bite his lip and tilt his head back and mutter a soft “ _please_ ” before Sylvain’s leaning down, sucking and marking his neck, enough to make Miroslav moan even louder. “I-I- yes, please, l-let me- t-tie me up Master, please, put me in my place, fuck me like the miserable slut I am-”

 

Even saying that much is enough, arousing to a degree he never would’ve thought, and he’s moaning louder as he presses up and struggles, tries to free his wrists, only more aroused when he _can’t_ . He cries out and twists, mouth running a river of thoughts as he goes “Yes- yes, Master, please, give it to me, I-I- god, _fuck me_ , I w-want to feel you this time, want you inside of me, want to feel you _throbbing_ \- god, I c-can’t- j-just the thought, please, Master, I want you so bad, I’m so hard for you, just give it to me-!”

 

It’s so fucking arousing like this, hearing Miroslav’s harsh, heady words, moans as he pleads with him for more, pleads for Sylvain to fuck him… there are whimpers leaving his throat as Sylvain’s hands slide down his body, parting his legs to settle in between them, two fingers teasing his puckered opening, one barely sliding against his rim, teasingly. “Very good, my darling… master’s so proud of you.” And then he’s pushing one in, not even bothering to wet it, so roughly it’s a shock when Miroslav doesn’t immediately cry out, beg him to stop- or to keep going.

 

He’s trailing harsh love bites down his throat, teeth marking the skin and digging into his collarbone, sucking and marring and leaving a mix of blemishes to rise to the surface in the wake of his lips. His own pants are being kicked off roughly, hands shaking as one finds Miroslav’s chests, drawing circles across a hardened nipple, teasing the pink bud until it’s tense and rigid against the cold air. He’s pushing a second finger in and Miroslav’s crying out, rutting upward against him so desperate for more, and Sylvain’s pressing lips against his ear, chuckling.

 

“I want you to be a good little bitch and stay still for me.” And then he’s kneeling in between his legs and angling his hips upward and trying to pull him closer, long fingers teasing the underside of Miroslav’s cock, his own half pressed against the younger’s opening as he takes the lotion from the dresser, slicks his own length up with it and tries not to just let his own noises sound from how hot it all is. Fuck, he needs to feel him- needs to be clenched around, feel Miroslav’s tight heat against his cock… _fuck._ “Say thank you while your master fucks you, sweetheart.”

 

It’s too much. It’s too much all at once, the fervor of his Master’s words and all of the lust built up inside of him threatening to spill over. Miroslav can feel himself tensing up, going rigid as he feels Sylvain against him, and though he’s all too eager to _feel him_ -

 

“S-Sylvain,” leaves his lips in a whimper. He’s reaching up with a gasp, wanting to pull him down, and hold him . . . he seems to pause. Sylvain looks at him, and his eyes soften just a smidge . . .

 

And then his hands are free. He’s curling his arms around his Master’s neck and burying his face into his Master’s shoulder, and he holds on for dear life as Sylvain pushes into him for the first time.

* * *

 

He was half focused on the conversation. Really, it was hard to be focused, especially after the plan Blake had whispered to him not long before they left- the thought of being… so sexual in public… it shouldn’t have been as much of a turn on as it was. And fuck, now all he could think about was having Miroslav pinning him, and Blake pinning Miroslav, and all of them just fucking pushing against each other…

 

Blake knew how to get him worked up too easily. Still, Anakin tried to ignore it, in lieu of looking down at his phone where the cheeky text marked _hey ;)_ had just shown up. He had to muffle a laugh, half tempted to reply, half tempted to slide the object back into his pocket. The coffee shop was pretty busy for three in the afternoon- probably because students were just getting out of classes and Uni wasn’t more than a few blocks away.

 

Anakin’s eyes are flitting upward, only to notice that they’re both staring at him now, and that’s when he thinks _oh shit, I’ve gotta be bright fuckin’ red right now,_ and he’s just looking down again, brushing red hair out of his face with an ink-stained hand, huffing. “What, I have something in my teeth? Or you just taking time to admire my pretty face?”

 

Blake’s chuckling, and it’s almost infuriating, the way he’s grabbing Miroslav and looking over him with a small smile, before winking at the already flustered redhead. And Anakin would’ve been almost jealous if it wasn’t _Miroslav,_ and it’s almost strange to think that he kind of wants him, too. And then he’s catching Miroslav’s eyes before the line clears and the older man’s stepping forward to talk to the cashier, and the twenty-two year old can already imagine feeling their hips against each other, his dick straining in his pants...

 

_Too hot extremely hot in here someone call the fire department because this should be illegal…!_

 

It takes him a moment to realize the clerk is calling him over - he can hardly see her past the glass display case, she was so small. Miroslav gives a look to Blake and Anakin. They both look . . . suspicious. Sly. It almost makes him wonder what they have planned, but then he’s hearing that high-pitched call of “I can help you over here!” before he’s refocusing and walking over.

 

“Hey,” he says as he grabs his wallet and looks down at the menu in front of him. “Can I get a-”

 

“Inside or to go?”

 

“Oh,” he starts, and nods. “Uhh - to go, I think. Um . . . medium coffee? Black, just a cream?”

 

The girl rolls her eyes. She enters it into the machine. “Anything else?”

 

“Yeah, uh . . . yeah,” he looks back to Blake and Anakin. Both seem to be whispering to each other, somehow in cahoots . . . he rolls his eyes and looks back to the clerk. “Sorry. Those two should be over in a moment.”

 

“Hey, take your time, man,” the clerk gives a weary sigh. “I’ve been here for like four hours already, and I’m working this till alone. You cannot imagine how much my feet hurt and how many annoying customers I’ve gotten.”

 

He leans closer and mutters, “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m afraid Blake and Anakin are ten times worse.”

 

“You do not know the half of it,” the clerk whispers back with a sigh.

 

It takes a few minutes before Blake finally walks over, looking over the clerk with a tiny smile, before half leaning on the counter as he gazed across the list of coffees and teas on the board behind their head. “Let’s see… I’ll take… hmm… what do you think I should get, Miroslav?” A laugh. “Oh wait. I know. A double espresso macchiato, with non-dairy soymilk substituted for the regular and maybe some caramel or hazelnut syrup. Whichever you have more of.”

 

The clerk looks more than annoyed, but tries to write it down the best they could, giving him a half-glare as they say, “Anything else?”

 

“Anakin, you want anything?”

 

“M-Mir- what?” The ginger’s cheeks have turned a bright red, a tattooed hand going up to cover his face. “Shut up, Blake. I’ve h-had a long day. This is… embarrassing.”

 

“I guess that’s it,” the older says, sliding a card out of his wallet and handing it to them. “Seriously though, sorry for annoying you. I heard Miroslav’s comment. A guy’s gotta live up to the hype, right?” Blake gives them a tiny wink.

 

“Receipt?” The clerk asks, voice still frustrated. Blake just nods.

 

“Thanks.”

 

He can feel a hand tapping his shoulder lightly, turning around to look at his lover, whose expression is more confused than anything. “Why don’t you head outside while Miroslav and I wait in here? You look like you could use some air.”

 

Miroslav’s half-tempted to agree, though the clerk is reaching out and grabbing his wrist with an expression that clearly says, “Please don’t leave me alone with him.” He gives them a wry sort of grin, almost an apology, and shrugs. He’s not sure that the action doesn’t give him away though - they’re lifting a brow, looking him over, before they get a look of knowing and a little smirk on their lips.

 

“ _Cute_ ,” they mouth to him with a wink, and he pulls back with a nervous bite to his lip. He’d . . . he’d done it up earlier that morning, just a sort of- experimenting, again, but he knows his knots aren’t perfect, and he’s pretty sure that they show just a little bit. But at least the clerk isn’t scandalized - just a little red - and they seem to be looking at Blake with a far more _pleased_ look than before.

 

. . . goddammit. He needs somebody to show him how to do this, because he’s almost certain he’s fucked it up-

 

“I’ll have your drinks ready for you in a short while,” the clerk says with another wink. “Have a good day, _sir_.”

 

Jesus fucking Christ.

 

Miroslav at least walks out with Anakin, pulling the other into the cooler air outside. It’s chilly - not super bad, since he’s at least wearing a sweater, but even _still_. Anakin looks like he’s going to completely freeze up; his cheeks are entirely red. “Blake’s right, you look like a mess,” Miroslav says quietly with a raised brow. “You feeling okay? We could go get you a coffee to warm up with-”

 

“N-no… I-I’m fine…” Anakin tries not to moan, shifting his body uncomfortably as he tries to ignore the heaviness of his body, the unfortunate stretch of the plug currently filling him beneath the impossibly tight underwear, shaking his head to avoid giving out a moan. He doesn’t want to tell Miroslav that it’s… _him,_ that Miroslav’s the reason he’s so flustered, been half out of it since that morning, just the thought…

 

He looked so nice when his cheeks were bright red, or even when he was just… like this, staring at him, and… his eyes were half gentle, half worried. It sets off a feeling of warmth in his chest, one Anakin tries to immediately shove down because _fuck, you do not have a crush on Miroslav._ That wasn’t even possible- he couldn’t even… _think,_ though, being so close to him.

 

It’s a few seconds before Blake walks out, a drink in each hand, raising an eyebrow as he looks between the two of them, before giving Miroslav a once over. “Looks like the other night got you worked up,” he muses. “Here’s your coffee.”

 

Just the statement alone brings a blush back to his face, dammit. “Is it that obvious?” he asks as he takes the coffee and takes a careful sip. He’d worn a shirt and sweater, yeah . . . and the sweater was a bit baggy . . . and they were still showing? He averts his eyes and looks to the side, unable to hide a little smile. “Just . . . experimenting. That’s all.”

 

It wasn’t like he was lying - it was a bit of an experiment, after all. Though . . . he can’t help but admit, it does give him a rush. A _major_ rush. Knowing that he’s wrapped up in public, that the majority of people wouldn’t know the filthy things he was doing with his body . . . it was sort of arousing. He’d done it up in the bathroom between classes, so it wasn’t perfect, and he’s sure he didn’t get any notes at all from the last class ( _Miroslav, you idiot, you’re going to fail this, you’re going to . . ._ ), but it’s worth it. Every second of it, every tug against his skin, _worth it_ . . .

 

“So? What’s the plan?” he asks. Blake just gives him a shrug and starts walking, so Miroslav follows. He can’t help but finally notice it - how oddly Anakin’s walking, the expressions he’s making, bordering on almost uncomfortable . . . _is he okay?_ He thinks, before looking back at Blake and the alleyway they’re headed down.

 

“Hey, are you two alright? Anakin looks a little-”

 

Blake's just offering a half muted smile, letting his eyes focus in on his boyfriend’s body, looking over the quivering lip, shaking hands, red cheeks… he was almost too cute. Blake knew he couldn't attribute it to the mere fact he was plugged, or that he knew _exactly_ why they were in this alley… no. _You've got a crush._ And he offers a tiny wink, snatching Miroslav's coffee from his hands to set it down on the step around back of the shop, fixated on his shocked expression.

 

“Miroslav…” he teases. “We both just wanted to show you how much you mean to us. Plus, Anakin was trying to find a way to make up for the way you took care of him the other day. Thought this might work.” And before the man can even say anything, Anakin's grabbing his shoulders, pulling him closer until his own back hits the wall and he can press Miroslav's face against his neck, cling to him tightly as his hips push forward half on instinct, already far too aroused for it to be healthy.

 

And then Blake's moving closer, pressing his body along Miroslav's back and forcing his hips further against Anakin's as his hands settle on Miroslav's waist, own lower body pushing forward and thrusting against him harshly. “This… fuck. This feel good, Miroslav? You like being pinned between us like this?” He's barely able to keep himself steady, even less when Anakin hikes his legs up around Miroslav's waist, forcing him to stay pinned between them when Blake grabbed hold of his thighs.  “You're so hot like this-”

 

“Nngh, too f-fucking hot, Miroslav. God, never though I'd be s-saying that… wanna say it more,” Anakin cut in, leaning forward to bite at Miroslav's neck. “So great-”

 

All breath leaves him in a solid gasp as the two of them press against his body. Miroslav isn’t sure what to say, only reaching back to try and grab Blake as he shakes and lets out a moan at the feeling of Anakin clinging to him, tugging on him, plucking at the ropes under his clothes - god, it’s _insane_. His hands are pressing against the wall beside Anakin’s shoulders as he presses himself closer, only to push back against Blake’s hips, stammering as his back is pressed flush to Blake’s chest-

 

“H-Holy _fuck_ -” comes out breathless, and he’s only moaning again at the way Anakin is clinging to him, his legs around his waist and brushing his shirt up to expose the ropes on his hips. He’s digging nails into the brick, reaching back with one hand to fist in Blake’s hair, shuddering as he realizes how hard he is. It’s only getting worse, feeling hands slipping against his stomach, tracing lines between rope and knots-

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” spills from his lips. He’s hiding his face in Anakin’s collar and trying to speak, only to be caught in moans as he feels teeth on his neck, harsh bites against his throat, and he can’t even think-

 

“Y-you like that?” is all Blake manages to say again, pushing himself forward and leveraging Miroslav against him, sliding hands along his waist and slipping them beneath his shirt, joking the ropes tighter and giving an unsteady moan as Miroslav jerks against him. Anakin's half rutting against him and jerking his hips forward until his ass is pushing against Miroslav's clothed cock, every twitch of his body easily felt with the close confines of their bodies.

 

And then Blake's smacking Miroslav's ass, pushing his own clothed length up against the younger man, jerking roughly on the ropes with each dry thrust until he can pull him closer, shove him forward so Miroslav's face was against Anakin's tattoooed neck, and his own breath is hitting Miroslav's tense shoulder, giving a rough chuckle. “Such a pretty thing… such a good whore for us… love feeling you shake. It's absolutely delicious.”

 

“ _God_ -!” he’s moaning uncontrollably at this point, hardly able to keep his sounds to himself- they’re so close, both of them, tugging on him and moaning and pressing their hard-ons against his body, and _fuck_ , he wants more, needs more - it’s so good, all of the sensation, the way Anakin seems so desperate for it, how Blake was digging fingers into his ropes and tugging and _fuck_ , Miroslav’s arching and moaning as he presses his chest against Anakin’s, half a mess and barely able to think.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” comes out breathless, and he’s reaching back and fisting Blake’s hair in one hand, trying to stammer out words - “Wh-What, t-title, _fuck_ , sir, what do- c-call-” and he’s nearly doubling over with a loud cry as he feels himself straining in his pants, a drop of wetness smearing against the inside of his jeans, and _fuck, I wanna come so badly, just let me come . . ._

 

 _“_ Fuck-” is the only think Anakin can gasp out, one hand jerking the ropes on Miroslav's chest to pull him closer, shove them against each other and moan out his name as his own body spasms. His ass is clenching up around the plug, his cock rapidly coming undone between them and pushing so much goddamn wetness against the tight fabric of his underwear he wants to scream… he's just gasping out, “C-call him… l-lord… highness? Fuck- make me- n-need more- everything hurts? Need you…”

 

And then Blake's commanding him sharply, “Come, my dear slave… show me how filthy you are.”

 

The words make him give a high-pitched wail, fighting against the tug of rope and the pressure against him and all of it - but he’s completely tensed up, and he lurches forward and sinks teeth into Anakin’s shoulder as he comes with blinding white across the back of his eyes, his scream only barely muffled enough for satisfaction, and _fuck, fuck_ his legs are almost going weak with it all, with how _wet_ he is now, come all over his cock and beginning to drip down his legs-

 

And then Anakin’s unravelling himself from his body, shaking as he kneels down and unbuttons Miroslav’s pants with a quick pull, and Miroslav can hide his moan as Anakin leans forward, presses his open mouth against his skin as he sucks and bites and licks away the cum down his legs, across his cock . . . Miroslav reaches down and fists a hand in his hair, leaning back against Blake as his- his _lord’s hands_ trace up his body, under his shirt, lifting it up until he’s practically exposed-

 

“F-Fuck, Anakin-!” he’s crying out as his hand tightens in his hair, moaning as his lips trace across wet rope and his dripping, half-hard cock, and he gasps as he hears Blake chuckle behind him and grabs his hand with a shaky, “M-My lord, please-”

 

Miroslav’s voice is so strained, only serving to make Blake give a slightly amused chuckle, tugging the ropes back further as he slides his lips along the back of his sweat-soaked neck, biting down on his ear and tugging gently, before sinking teeth into the side of his throat, pleased when red splotches jump to the surface, Miroslav’s moan echoing in his head. He’s laughing, gently, before his hand is sliding around the younger’s body to take hold of his cock, stroking it with long, nimble fingers, before he looks back down.

 

And Anakin’s sliding forward to take Miroslav in his mouth, tongue sliding along his come-soaked length with a soft smile, leaning forward until he can feel the end of Miroslav’s cock hitting the back of his throat, sending a moan from his lips as the vibrations ran through Miroslav’s body, his back arching as his hips pushed back against Blake’s own desperately. “So filthy, aren’t you?” He’s sliding hands underneath the harness, ripping it from his chest with enough force that he can feel a couple of the knots come undone, laughing. “Need to help you learn how to tie, my pet.”

 

The tightness of the ropes against his body - that fucking _tension_ \- nearly sends him undone. And Miroslav can’t help it when he tilts his head back and fucking _screams_ , completely out of control as he digs nails into Anakin’s hair and pushes him forward and collapses entirely against Blake. There’s a bunch of whispers he can’t decipher, a hand slapped over his mouth, and- oh, _fuck_ , he can’t, it’s so goddamn good, his legs are buckling and Anakin’s mouth is wrapped around him, so goddamn warm, tracing lines over his cock with his tongue-

 

And then he’s releasing, another scream muffled into Blake’s hand as he comes in Anakin’s mouth, watching him swallow down his come as Blake gives another harsh _pull_ to his harness, another shot of ecstasy looming through him until he’s tilting his head back, eyes completely shut, hardly aware that he’s coming all over again and Anakin’s sputtering, completely taken off-guard-

 

And then Blake’s helping him down, lowering him to the ground, and Miroslav cries out when his hand pulls from his lips, and all he can stammer is a weak “ _fuck, oh god, sir_ -”

 

Blake's half worried they were too rough, because Miroslav's expression is so disoriented, his skin soaked in sweat and body half collapsed against them both. He's trailing fingers through Miroslav's messy hair, laying kisses along his neck and exposed collarbone as his fingers fiddle with the harness more roughly. “You're such a good boy. Such a darling pet,” he praises, leaving a small kiss against Miroslav's jaw. “We've got you. Just relax.”

 

Anakin's trailing his tongue across Miroslav's stomach, making sure he's completely cleaned up before sliding up next to them, wrapping his arms around Blake and pressing against Miroslav's side, his legs still shaking, looking half on the verge of crying. He tries to perk up at seeing Blake's expression, offering the best smile he can muster. “Love you… both?”

 

“I love you too,” Blake whispers, glancing back down at Miroslav. “He's probably exhausted.”

 

“Aren't you?” Anakin asks, tugging at his shirt. “Me too… I did good, right?”

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” is all that will slip from his lips. Miroslav can’t help it; he’s still shaking, still coming down from all of that, and it doesn’t help that Blake’s gently tugging on the ropes still, that his jeans are still around his ankles, that he’s practically exposed for all of the world to see. _God_ , but it was so fucking good. All of the pulling, the back-and-forth, the way Anakin had kneeled for him and how Blake had teased and teased until he snapped-

 

He can register Anakin’s words, at least, and he’s reaching up with a shaky hand and running it through Anakin’s hair with an equally shaky sigh. “Y-Yeah,” he gasps as he curls inward on himself and hides his face in Blake’s chest. “Y-Yeah, was fucking _amazing_ . Jesus. H-Half the neighborhood probably knows by now, but _shit_ , it’s so goddamn worth it . . . j-just-” he fists a hand in Blake’s shirt. “G-Gimme a few minutes, I’m still- still out of it. Dunno if I could stand. _God_ , wh-what’s Master going to say-?”

 

“Sylvain already knows,” Blake waved his phone at Miroslav teasingly, before sliding it into his back pocket again as he pulls Miroslav closer to his body, a laugh leaving his throat suddenly as he kisses his neck lightly. “You're very beautiful like this… can see why Sylvain's so protective of you. I'd ravish you too.” a smirk. “Probably good that you're his.” And then he's just curling arms around Miroslav and pulling him closer, listening to him breathe as he watches Anakin pull away, sitting up to face the wall.

 

“We should go soon,” the youngest of the three says, shaking his head as he refuses to look back at them. “A-as fucking sweet as this all is, I don't really fancy being found like this.” There's a twinge of hurt in his tone when Blake reaches out to rest a hand on his back, trembling and pulling away before looking back down at Miroslav. “Do we need to carry you?”

 

“Probably should. At least let him lean on us,” Blake responds, earning a nod as Anakin kisses him gently, pulling away.

 

“Whenever you're okay to go, Miroslav.”

 

He wants to grab the phone out of Blake’s hand. He wants to take it and talk to Sylvain and tell him how good it was, and _Master, god, they were all over me, so fucking good, the way they tore at my harness - fuck, tie me up, make me your pretty little slave_ \- but he’s putting it away too quickly, and he doesn’t have the energy to lunge after it, much less talk. All he knows is that Anakin and Blake are waiting for him, and he figures that they need to get home because he’s not going to be able to process a thing-

 

He barely manages to tug up his jeans and buckle them again, and it’s Blake who has the sense of mind to pull down his shirt and sweater again so he’s covered. And then they help him stand, and he leans on them as they start stumbling down the alley together.

 

He’s so tired. So goddamn tired, he can barely think. They’re leaving the alley, and he can hear a little, very vocal _sigh_ , and he focuses his eyes on the person. It’s the clerk - the same one as before. They look like they’re trying to hide a smile behind their mug.

 

“So . . . that sounded _nice_ ,” they tease before taking a sip of whatever was in their hands. “I didn’t expect my break to be so entertaining, but hey, that’s the magic of it.” They grab Blake attention and reached down next to them, pulling out a drink from beside them. “I was so surprised  by the scream,” they explain, “That I spilled his coffee. Here’s a new one, on me. Be careful going home, you three.”

 

Blake doesn't know if its possible for him to be blushing so much. He doesn't know if he usually does, but he's fumbling as they hand him back the coffee, looking away as though all the confidence has suddenly left him. “Yeah… gotta make sure this one doesn't pass out,” he jokes, tapping Miroslav's chest before averting his eyes quickly.

 

He barely notices Anakin tugging on his shirt quickly, his own skin finally seeming to pale as he nods his head to the clerk. _Oh, you are being devious today._ “Go ahead,” Blake murmurs, before Anakin's fishing a black pen out of his pocket and reaching for the clerk's hand.

 

“Call me?” he half squeals. “A-anything you want. I think… fuck, I don't know. I'm being awkward.” He's looking away, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Yeah… see you around?”

 

The clerk seems surprised - very, _very_ surprised, as if they’ve never been asked something like that before. But he does notice that they give Anakin a smile and let him write his number on their hand, before surprising him by giving him a quick hug. “You’re adorable. Yeah, I’ll give you a call sometime; it’d be fun to hang out, especially if it was anything like back in that alley,” they add as they pull back with a salacious grin. “Now scurry on home you guys. Mama’s almost done their break and I got two more hours before I can think about what kind of dirty stuff you got into.”

 

. . . they are way too honest. Miroslav almost wants to blush, but he’s so tired, he’s not even sure his blood could get to the right place to make that blush. But at least Blake’s holding him up, helping him walk, and Anakin’s catching up to them as they finally start walking home.

 

* * *

 

 

The apartment is surprisingly quiet when Blake finally manages to get the door open, tugging on the handle and half falling through the entryway as he gave a muffled groan. Everything seemed to be out to get him at this point- not that it cancelled out how hot everything had been earlier or something but… yeah. It was fucked.

 

He leans back up, turning around to pull Miroslav inside before half throwing him onto the couch as he glances around. Sylvain is… not there. _Was that art thing tonight? Shit._ Blake just shakes his head, flipping his phone back out so he can send a quick text, barely paying attention to the loud groan as Anakin lies down on the floor, completely disregarding any care for himself and his appearance, as usual.

 

“Sylvain should be back in a bit. He went out to some art thing with Alex and Acacia. Showing off some of his paintings, I think.” he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before slumping down in one of the chairs. “Anything you wanna do?”

 

“I want…” Anakin cuts himself off shaking his head. “Nevermind. I'm fine. It's.. stupid. Just ignore me.” he notices Miroslav's eyes on him, before giving an exaggerated hand motion. “Look away! Look away while you still can!”

 

“You know I'd let you cuddle with me,” Blake says. “Just say it.”

 

“... _pleaseBlakeIwannacuddle.”_

 

“Go grab some blankets or something. It's freezing in here.” The older man sticks his tongue out. “You want anything, Miroslav? Sylvain said he'll be back fairly soon.”

 

He can feel his head pounding. He’s so sensitive, everywhere, skin burning beneath the ropes and his legs still shaking from everything before . . . and he’s so goddamn hot. So hot, just wants Sylvain to come back so he can hold onto his master, beg for him to- to tie him tighter-

 

He gives a little moan as he rolls over and presses his face to the couch. He’s tugging down a blanket from the back of the couch until it falls over him, if only because he wants to cover himself, hide his body from everybody until Sylvain gets back- but he’s eyeing Blake as he asks, and he’s trembling as the thought cuts through his head, until he’s reaching for Blake’s hand.

 

“Sh-Show me . . . the kn-knots? L-Like you’d said, before, h-how can I-?” he gasps and shivers, laying his head down again as his body arches and he whispers a little “ _fuck_ . . .”

 

“Don’t get too eager,” Blake half jokes, but nonetheless takes Miroslav’s hand in his, rubbing circles against his palm comfortingly with a tiny wink. “‘Sides, we’ll have to get some more rope for that… higher quality. Think maybe we should try some suspension with you…” it’s a joking tone, before Blake’s pulling away just slightly and pushing his glasses up on his face, turning his head back to the door.

  
“Sylvain takes forever to come home these days… tech support isn’t even that hard of a job. Meanwhile, I’m stuck supervising children for hours on end…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THIS IS ALL IN ORDER SO UPDATES SHOULD GO BETTER


	4. history

He woke to a door screeching open - heavy footfalls, the sound of a body hitting the floor. Miroslav sits up quickly, grabbing his covers in fists. Something’s wrong - he knows it. He can hear the heavy breathing outside his door, the stammering words of “ _nononono_ ”, and his first thought is of Anakin. But those words don’t sound the same, not like his tone, more like . . . like a woman’s. He’s not sure. Miroslav only knows that there’s something wrong, building up in the back of his neck, and he needs to see. Something’s wrong.

 

He’s getting out of bed and pulling socks on his feet before he’s quietly opening the door, looking around in the dark hallway. It’s the middle of the night; Miroslav rubs at his eyes as he carefully closes the door behind him without a sound. He can hear heavy breathing. They’re gasps, almost, frantic and quick and worried. He’s not sure where they’re coming from, but- they’re not near the living room. They’re further down the hall.

 

 _The studio_?

 

He wonders if it’s Sylvain - that’s his first thought, a cold one that sinks in his gut until he peeks back into the room and sees Sylvain lying in his bed, fast asleep. And it can’t be Blake, he thinks; Anakin would be awake if that was so, because Miroslav knows that Anakin doesn’t sleep without him. And if it’s not Anakin . . .

 

Well, that didn’t sound like Acacia.

 

_There’s no way . . ._

 

Miroslav hears a crash from the studio. He’s running, feet nearly slipping on the floor as he grabs the door to the studio and swings it open, and he’s ducking inside and barely able to make out the stage, the easel, the- the curved, feminine figure collapsed over the upturned stool . . .

 

Miroslav gasps. He steps forward, half-ready to speak-

 

A shadow flies at him. His vision blurs; his back hits the floor.

 

“ _STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, YOU MONSTER!_ ”

* * *

 

 

There’s a shout. It’s loud enough that it sends a ringing in her ears, Acacia’s already half awake body suddenly on edge. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, a shiver run down her spine… she isn’t sure the sound didn’t make everything run cold. Not because of the implication, but because she knew _exactly_ who that voice belonged to.

 

_Alexei._

 

It takes a mere second for her to clamber out of bed, lunging for the door and throwing it open as she swallowed down the fear in her body, eyes darting frantically before settling on the open door to the studio. There’s something like crying, sharp wails that echo from inside, the sound of pacing and heavy footwork across the floor, and then she’s creeping closer and sliding the door open and… _fuck._

 

Miroslav’s unconscious body is on the floor, barely hidden by the stool, while Alexei’s in a crumpled heap on the floor, face in their hands, half sobbing and half cursing to themselves. They look so close to just standing up, shouting loudly, and it’s hard enough for Acacia to approach them.

  
She isn’t gentle when she pulls them back, into her arms, fastening theirs at their sides as she tries to whisper in their ear _“you’re safe, my Alex, calm down- it is in your head, not real. Not now, not anymore. Shh. Calm.”_ Acacia’s laying their body out on the floor as she sits next to them, trying to calm their thrashing movements, unstill body, with words she’s hardly certain make sense, stroking back their hair and grasping for their hand, until she can entwine fingers with theirs. Alexei’s hand catches her face, slamming against her nose, but she can hardly make a noise…

 

She just wants to calm them. Ease them back to bed, until the flashbacks are all a lost memory, out of their head for the night. And she’s pulling them up against her chest and just holding them there as they break down again, a mess of quivering sobs, their eyes fluttering, still hardly lucid.

 

“Alexei, just focus on my voice… do not move. Focus. Listen to me. Shh.” She thinks the words are getting through their head, before her eyes are darting back to Miroslav, uncertain of how soon she’d be able to get him to come to. But calming Alexei down is the biggest priority- she doesn’t want to get knocked out, too. “Calm… think of something calm. My voice, my touch… I am not leaving you. He is not here- nobody. Shh. Please. Calm your mind.”

 

It’s not the first time they’ve been here like this. They know it, deep in their gut,, and they remember all too well how horrible it had been - and this should’ve been the safe place, they should’ve been _safe_ , he had _never_ followed them this far, and they’d panicked and- and-

 

They don’t know who came after them, but they looked so much like him that they snapped. And now they’re shaking, crying, sobbing and nearly screaming as somebody holds onto them. It’s horrible - chills down their back, their throat clenching up, their hands clenched up so bad they want to sink nails into their stomach and rip it apart. As it is, they’re nearly pulling out their hair, digging nails into their side, wailing as somebody holds them together . . . holds them far too tightly against their body.

 

What finally brings them back, strangely enough, is the clothes. The clothes shifting against their body, the long shirt they usually wear to sleep, and it’s enough clarity of _I was naked when he hurt me_ that they’re beginning to realize what’s going on. They’re on the floor - no doubt there, with the ache in their knees - and somebody is holding them, warm and plush and . . . soft. And then they can hear her voice, and that heavy accent, and they know.

 

They wrap their arms around her ribs and give out a whole new set of earth-shattering _wails_.

 

“ _Watashi wa sore o imi shinakatta, watashi wa gomen'nasai, sorera o kizutsukeru tsumori wa nakatta, watashi wa modotte soko ni iku koto wa arimasen shite kudasai-_!”

 

It hurts Acacia’s ears, that broken lilt to their voice, the sound and look of defeat emanating from their entire body, and she’s just pulling them closer to her, against her chest so she can hold their head across her shoulder, try and calm their heaving breaths. They’re shaking their head, still wailing, sobs and cries and whimpers meshing together into some sort of mangled sound that is practically earth shattering.

 

She’s kissing their forehead and rocking them in her arms the best she can, whispering “ _Anata ga soko ni modotte iku hitsuyō wa arimasen,”_ as she tries to stabilize them. There are footsteps in the doorway, and she’s looking up at whoever it is, snapping out, “There are smelling salts in my room. Go.”

 

All she can focus on is Alexei- Alexei’s tears, their cracking voice, trembling form in her arms, goosebump covered skin… their baggy shirt and their soft hair, the way they shake and cry and then go still against her, so much it’s almost confusing. She’s so close to thinking they’ve stopped, come out of it, but then they shake again and she just holds them tighter, tries to soothe their broken, agonized groans.

 

They stop. They stop, and Acacia’s looking down into their face, caressing their cheek with her hand, saying softly, “Please, Alexei. _Watashi wa mewosamasu, anata o aishite._ ” And then they’re blinking, a clarity washing over their face, still clinging to Acacia and grasping her hand and struggling in her grip before going lax again. Then they’re clinging, hand fisting in the fabric of her loose tank, and she’s brushing tears away from their eyes.

 

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk?”

 

It’s over.

 

They know that, now. They can hear it in the softness of Acacia’s voice. The clarity around them is seeping in, the hardwood floor of the studio and the paint-covered walls and . . . and the body on the floor. _Miroslav_. They . . . they remember. They’d seen him and immediately thought of Seth. They hadn’t been able to help it. Before they could even think . . .

 

They look back to Acacia, before burying their face in her chest. “I-Is he okay?” they sniffle out desperately, so angry at their broken voice that it sounds so _stupid_. They’re curling against her, shaking, and they’re not sure they can speak, but - “Inari. Wh-Where’s Inari? P-Please, where’s my sister?”

 

They hear footsteps and cry out as they hold onto Acacia tighter. But all they hear is a quick “Thank you - wake him up. Then, find a phone,” and there’s a muttered bunch of words and a _gasp_ , and they can only look over as Miroslav tenses up, rolls over onto his side far too shakily to be okay. They’re grasping as Acacia as hard as they can as they finally hear more footsteps, fading away and then returning, and then there’s a phone being pushed into their hands and they’re trying to dial the number but they’re shaking so badly that Acacia has to take it from them, dial her for them.

 

“I-I-I’m so- I d-didn’t mean to-” they sob as Acacia finally hands them the phone, their thumb hovering over the call button. “I-Is Miroslav okay?”

 

“He is- he will be. Just waking up. They have him… do not worry, Alex, please. Call your sister.” Acacia’s smiling at them as her hand strokes locks of dark brown down, before pushing them away from the other’s face, behind their ear as they look down at the phone, an aura of nervousness seeming to hover around them. She’s just hushing them again and watching as they look down at the phone, pulling them closer to her body as they finally press the call button.

 

There’s something relieved in her body when they do, something relieved in seeing that look in their eyes and the realization on their face. There’s lucidity, and they’re back to being real, back to focusing on the reality of the present and not the past, their shaking continuing to slow in tandem with their soft breaths, holding the phone up to their ear as best they can. Acacia can hear the sound of gasps from across the room, before footsteps are wandering out, evidently carrying the weight of another body.

 

They can hear the phone ringing, over and over again, and it’s so nerve-wraking that their whole body’s tensed up again, almost painfully so. They’re burrowing closer against Acacia’s body as they wait, trying to keep their breath steady, though they can hardly sit still. It feels like an eternity’s passing, and they’re so terrified already that they can hardly look up; they just sit and hold the phone in an iron fist.

 

Finally, the phone cuts. There’s some ruffling, the sound of sheets, and finally, a voice, higher-pitched than the last time they had heard. “ _Arigato_ . . .?”

 

“Inari,” they stay. Then they’re closing their eyes and shaking and stammering “Inari” again before they’re doubling over and beginning to wail, all over again.

 

“Sib!” they can hear rustling blankets, the soft breaths of their sister trying to wrestle out of bed. “Sib, are you okay? It’s okay, I’m right here, what’s going on?”

 

“F-Flashback,” they stammer so weakly as they shut their eyes and sniffle. “R-Really bad. I kn-knocked out one of my flatmates- I was so s-scared-”

 

“Hey, it’s okay, sib, it’s okay. I know. Is it that time of year again? Do you need me to come down for a few days?”

 

They gasp. Rub at their eyes and at the snot running down their chin. “B-But- your classes, Fox.”

 

They hear a ‘ppsh’ over the line. “Half of them are online and the other half I can easily make up. A lit major isn’t _that_ hard, sib,” a pause. “Okay, then make room for me on your couch or something; I’ll borrow my roommate’s car. I can be there tomorrow evening? We’ll get you through this rough patch alright, kay?”

 

Alexei sobs again and presses their face against Acacia’s chest. “Th-Thank you, Inari . . .”

 

“It’s no problem. Besides, I wanna catch up with everybody. I miss San Diego; Arizona isn’t the same,” she sighs dramatically. “And anyways, I’ve been wanting to see _her_ and it’s taken forever for me to find the time. This is a great excuse.”

 

“Y-You’re not going to change my m-mind, Fox.”

 

“I know I won’t, Moonie. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Can you give the phone to Acacie now? I wanna talk to her quick.”

 

They nod and quietly hand the phone to Acacia. “Sh-She wants to talk to you,” they whimper.

 

Acacia just nods, swallowing the reservations and the fears for her partner- her Alexei- down, burying them for the time being as she takes the phone with a slightly wavering grasp. “Hello there, Inari. I hope you are doing decently. Alexei is very happy to hear your voice,” she glances down to her partner quickly. “What do you need to say?”

 

“My voice has changed? . . . oh yeah, the estrogen! It’s been a while since we last talked and, well, I’ve been on estrogen for a little bit. So that’s why,” she says almost sunny-ly. But then she grows serious, and just says, “I wanted to make sure it was okay if I came over for a few days. It’s been two years now, and I think Moon could use some help with the date. S’okay? I mean, I can find a place to hole up for a little while, but I’d rather stay nearby just in case. Y’know?”

 

“No, no, I completely understand,” Acacia says, leaning back against the wall as she pulls Alexei further against her, hand brushing across their arm lightly, as some attempt to keep them calmed down. “I think it would be very good- for both of you. Alexei… they are having some difficulties, I think. Seeing you would help. Very first thing they say- ‘where’s Inari?’ I think it would be a good thing for you both.”

 

“Mmph . . . yeah, I think so, too. I wasn’t even back for the summer because of classes. I want to finish up my degree so I can be back for them, but . . .” she sighs. “It’s taking longer than I want it to. Gosh. I hope I can finish it up soon, though. Moon said they’d go back for their degree if I finished mine first, and I think it’d be good to get them back in classes. Unless you can work that dom-leather-sparkle magic of yours and make them go back for me?”

 

“Trust me, as much as I wish my powers of lust and livelihood were as effective as my whips,” she let her hand slide to Alexei’s face, finger brushing across their lips gently, before ruffling their hair quickly. “They are still not. So I will try, rest assured- but Alexei… you know how they are.” She has to hide an amused laugh when the younger figure flips their finger at her. “When will you be here?”

 

“As long as my roomie doesn’t protest too much about me taking her car, then I should be there by tomorrow evening. Same place as last time?”

 

“Why not? No change if it is not necessary, in my opinion. We will see you tomorrow, Inari. Take care, my dear.”

 

“I’ll see you then. Take care of my sib for me until I get there!”

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t know what’s going on, but his head is spinning, and he almost feels sick. And he’s moving, too, carried into a dark room with quiet words being muttered to him, and he’s collapsing on something soft - his bed - before he can pick himself up. He lets out a groan; his head hurts, a lot, and he’s still not entirely aware of what’s going on, but all he knows is that somebody had been up and something had been thrown at his head . . .

 

There’s a small light trying to flash into his eyes; Miroslav reels back and gives a groan as he tries to hide his face, luckily in his own comforter. There’s a hand on his back, trying to shush him, but he can’t really help it; the second pound of pain through his head makes him groan again, this time at least muted by the blankets. Somebody is trying to talk to him, quietly, and though he wants to roll over to check, he can’t; there isn’t a way in hell he’s dealing with bright lights again.

 

“Wh-Who-?” he asks, and there’s a soft touch against his head, the back of his neck, and he doesn’t recognize it at first - and then he makes the connection and tilts his head up a little bit, finally muttering, “Blake . . .?”

 

The words are soft, practically unheard over Sylvain’s slight snoring and the air drifting in through the open window. But Miroslav’s blinking his eyes open in apparent confusion, glancing about and shifting his body and sitting up so he can look at him, and his gaze is glassy, almost too confused. He’s reaching up to try and rub his head, but Blake’s just hushing him, pushing his hand down so it’s against the sheets again, trying to talk to him in a hushed, feathery tone.

 

“You’re conscious.” He observes, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as he looks down at the younger, trails eyes along his wiry form, before tucking the blanket back up to his chest. “You caught them during a flashback… it’s over now. They’re alright, don’t worry- Acacia’s with them. I’ve got you, for now. Just try and lie down, okay? You were hit pretty hard.”

 

“Hit . . .?” he shuts his eyes tightly. Now that he mentions it, the pain’s radiating from just above his forehead, in one big blotch . . . he vaguely remembers the shadow of the stool, right before he was picked up. _So that’s what knocked me out_. “That doesn’t . . . wait,” he says, still confused as he reaches out and puts a hand on Blake’s shoulder, half around the back of his neck. “B-But- what flashback? And who . . .?”

 

He tries to think back. The figure hadn’t looked familiar at ALL; it was a curvy, feminine silhouette, but it was too short to be Acacia, and the voice wasn’t the same. It was more feminine . . . if that was even possible, given Acacia and all of her charm. But then who . . .?

 

He goes back to what Blake said; “caught them during a flashback”, was it . . . and that’s when it hits him, and his eyes go wide as he looks up at him.

 

“That was . . . _Alex_ ?” he asks. His head pounds again; he gives a little groan and puts a hand to his eyes. “ _Fuck_ , that hurt . . . there’s no way. Alex is f-flat, and their voice . . .” he pauses. Then: “I never really realized that they were female, I guess. Jesus, this hurts.”

 

“Oh, believe me,” there was a soft laugh. “Alex may be _a_ female, but they are definitely _not_ female.” There’s a tiny pause, as Blake’s hand finds its way to Miroslav’s cheeks, touching each of them gently, before giving a soft sigh, standing to his feet as he pulls away. Then his hand’s sliding across Miroslav’s forehead, frowning as he whispers, “You’re hot, maybe running a bit of a fever- some problem from getting knocked out. Swollen cheek, probably will bruise in the morning. Let me go get some ice.”

 

He’s heading to the door, footsteps making their way down the hall, before there’s a light in the kitchen, and a few seconds before he’s hurrying back, stepping into the room and bouncing on one foot for a few seconds as he tried to nurse a stubbed toe. “O-ah… okay. Okay, here.” He’s taking the ice pack he’d pulled from the fridge, sticking it in Miroslav’s hand and helping him hold it up to his face. “But yeah… it was Alexei. They’ve had… some issues in their past. But that isn’t for me to talk about. At least, not now…” he looks over at the clock, reading a few minutes before one am. “You should try and get back to sleep.”

 

The thought puts an absolute jolt through him, one that tenses up his whole upper body; _what if that happens again?!_ He thinks, followed by heaving a sigh. Dammit; the middle of the night was the absolute perfect time for anxiety to reign, he thinks. And that was when the worst ideas came, too, and now with Alex having _knocked him cold_ , the idea of going through it again makes his nerves tie up in knots.

 

Still, he gives Blake a nervous smile, and nods. “Yeah . . . probably,” he says, hoping his voice isn’t betraying his anxiety any more than necessary. He almost feels like he wants to cry; he wonders if he’s shaking, and if Blake can tell. He’s not sure he’s going to get sleep, actually. At least, until he looks to the side, where Sylvain is sleeping, looking small in that big bed . . .

 

“You should . . . uh . . . g-go to bed,” he says with a wince at the pain is his cheek, and the smile that he tries to make it up for. “I-I’m fine here, now. No problems. I’ll just- go back to sleep. Probably feel better in the morning. So. Y-Yeah.”

 

Blake shrugs it off, turning to walk hurriedly to the door, turning around last minute to see Miroslav walking across the room- even creeping, possibly- to pull back the blankets on Sylvain’s bed and slide in next to him. _Cute._ The twenty-five year old thought to himself. _But seriously. You should worry more about holding that ice pack on that face._

 

Sylvain turns over, throwing an arm across Miroslav’s waist, one eye blinking open slightly to look at him, before giving a low hum and an amused smile, pulling him closer and burying Miroslav’s face against his neck. “Thanks for waking me up,” he kids, kissing his forehead. Gently pulling the blankets up around Miroslav’s shoulder, he gives a tiny sigh. “Try and get some sleep, babe. I’m here…”

 

It’s nice. It’s nice to be bundled up, to be held, and he can feel a little bit of the anxiety slipping away just from knowing that Sylvain is there, and holding onto him, too. “Sorry, Master,” he mumbles as he kisses his clavicle, “I just- c-couldn’t sleep. And then I just . . . yeah,” he nuzzles his shoulder a little more, and kisses his neck, and finally relaxes.

 

“You make it better,” is all he says before falling asleep again.

* * *

 

 

He wakes up early, and to find that Sylvain’s still asleep, still holding him close with an arm around his waist. It’s nice; the morning light is filtering through the window, casting gentle shadows, and it’s so pleasant Miroslav almost wants to fall asleep. But then he thinks of all he had been planning the last week, had been waiting for the weekend to get to . . . and he finally decides, _yep, time to stop wimping out and just get it over with_.

 

It’s no struggle to sneak out from under Sylvain’s hold, and to pull on clothes and carefully sneak out of the room. He gets ready quietly, almost silently, even careful not to wake up anybody else in the apartment, with all hope. By the time he’s done, he thinks he hasn’t woken anybody.

 

And then he opens the door to the small entryway to the elevator, and he stops, his surprise nearly audible as he looks down at the person sitting on the floor, tying their shoes.

 

“Alex?” he asks. The anxiety prickles at the back of his neck again, and he tries to force it off as he squats down next to them and asks, “What are you doing up so early?”

 

There’s soft chatter emanating from further down the hallway, hardly enough to be picked on at a usual time, but too loud at _six fucking am._ Still, there was some sense of relief to it- that he wasn’t the only one up, that there were people milling about… so, taking the chance for what it is, Anakin steps into the elevator.

 

And immediately meets eyes with two very familiar people. Alexei’s tying their shoes, hair a mess and eyes tired, half-lined with dark circles, Miroslav’s rubbed red and looking at them almost too nervously.

 

The ginger bites his lip, pulling away slightly as he tries to do anything but make eye contact with them for the first couple minutes. It’s… strange. He can’t even figure out if he wants to say anything or not- Miroslav and Alexei were _never_ up this early. This was… kind of a time when he tried to unwind and…

 

 _Last night._ The thought’s sudden, but too striking, and he’s flitting his eyes between them quickly, Anakin’s lips finally parting to choke out a light, “Um… so… a-are you guys… y’know, alright?” There was a short intake of breath. “Alex, you don’t look so well and… shit, I dunno. Are you- what are you doing up?”

 

Miroslav can see them biting their lip, almost chewing on it with nerves. Then, though, they roll their eyes and look back down to finish tying their shoes. “Errands,” they say, blunt enough. “I have shit to do. All over town. Gotta get them done.”

 

“This early?” Miroslav asks. Alexei glares at him.

 

“Why, _yes_ , this early. Why the fuck would I be up this early if not for a reason?”

 

 _Yeesh_ , they were . . . mad. Abnormally mad. He frowns. “Okay, point taken . . . so an appointment, then? It’s six in the morning.”

 

“It’s in another town. Half hour away. I’m headed in early to talk to-”

 

“Wait, half an hour?” Miroslav stops and cocks his head to one side. “I . . . think we’re headed to the same place. I have errands there too; we can go together-”

 

“Absolutely _not_ ,” they hiss out. “It’s a very- remote part of the town. You wouldn’t know where it-”

 

“Well,” he cuts back, “I can meet you there or something. I’m headed to a shop on eighteenth, so-”

 

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

 

“So you’re headed there too?”

 

“ _No_ , not the sa- just the street, dammit. It’s a little town, lots of asian folks, you wouldn’t like it.”

 

“. . . um. Alexei? I _sleep_ with an asian guy.”

 

“Lots of Japanese. You wouldn’t get it. And the stuff there isn’t that good. Why are you going there anyways?”

 

“I speak Japanese. And . . . anyways,” he looks to the side, and hopes he’s not smiling at all. “I’m just . . . getting a gift. For someone.”

 

“ _Yuko,”_ is the only response given, which prompts Alexei to raise their eyes, glancing at the third occupant of the elevator with an extreme confusion. “What? I fucked a Japanese guy for a couple years. I’ve been around.” Anakin turns around, pressing the button on the elevator and waiting for the thing to _just fucking move, because I swear this thing carbon dates all of us._

 

Alexei’s letting out a noise that can only be described as annoyed, and he barely gives them another look. “Oh, yeah, and considering I’m the only one who really drives around here, might as well tag along. I mean, I know you can, but… I don’t really trust you with my car? Unless you were wanting to walk… which I don’t mind either. I could use the exercise. Think I’m putting on weight.”

 

“I was _going_ to take my motorcycle,” they hiss back. “I can _drive_ you know. And anyways, it only carries two people-”

 

“I have my bike too,” Miroslav says. “Anakin and I could share,” he adds as he stands up, shoes tied, and puts an arm around Anakin’s shoulder. He’s not sure if he’s tensed up or not, but maybe it’s just his imagination. Alexei finally rises too, as the elevator goes down.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” they say, “Because you guys are not coming with me.”

 

“I’m pretty sure we are.”

 

“ _You have nothing to do with this_.”

 

“Alex, let it go,” he finally says, firmly. Honestly, they were being a brat; he’d had enough of it. “Last night you went completely batshit on us, and really, after that nobody would let you go out alone. We are coming with you whether you like it or not.”

 

They throw their hands in the air and nearly shout, “ _Fine!_ ” in a way that echoes all around the elevator. By the time it stops, they seem to have regained some control; they’re pulling in a breath, pushing their hair back as they say, quieter, “Fine, you can come. But for fuck’s sake, if you guys ask any questions, I’m leaving your asses behind.”

 

“Like I said, I could use the exercise. That includes chasing you down if need be,” Anakin adds quickly, before his hand flies to his mouth, eyes opening in realization. _“Ohhh. Shit. That’s_ what the noise was? I was half asleep, but it was so fucking loud I fell out of bed. Blake wouldn’t let me leave the room,” he sighed, looking down at his feet. “Don’t take that as me being excited about it. I’m just excited that I realized what the thing that I heard that I found out about when I woke up was.”

 

He bites his lip, increasingly aware of how loudly annoying he must sound. “Seriously, though, Alex… we’ve got issues, and we understand. Miroslav too. So, yeah… don’t take it too badly but… we’re honestly not going to let you out of our sight. Putting the cards out on the table here.” He steps around them, ignoring their incredulous look as he maneuvers his way toward the door while walking in a way that allowed him to stare straight at them.

 

“By the way, Miroslav? Nice face.”

* * *

 

 

He was sort of right; by the time they got to the car, Miroslav knew _exactly_ what his face looked like, and how bad it all seemed, too. There was a bit of a bump on his head, yes, but he only knew that by touch. Besides that, there was a _big_ bruise on his cheekbone, very close to his eye. He counts himself as lucky; a black eye would not have looked nice. Neither did this, but the idea of a chair leg flying into his eyeball . . . ugh. He’d rather not even think about it.

 

Still, Anakin’s a decent driver, even if somewhat . . . aggressive (he has never heard a man cuss so much at traffic). But they do get to the town in time, and they do find the street, and by the time they get out, he feels all the better for it. It wasn’t often he got car sick, but . . . maybe he had a concussion. _Or a brain tumor_ , he thinks, followed by, _wait, anxiety, what the fuck was that._ He groans; he’s going to be worrying about that all goddamn _day_ now.

 

Alexei’s words shake him out of his reviere. “Oookay,” they say as they step back, closer to a door of a shop he can’t see. “I’m going to . . . uh . . . d-do my appointment. Thing. So. Scram.”

 

“What are you talking about? It opens at eight,” he says, pointing to the sign. He squints, and tries to peer in. “What the heck is this place, anywa-”

 

“Nothing you need to know!” they snap. He swears, if they do that _one more time_ , he’s gonna . . .

 

Anakin shakes his head. He can already feel a headache coming on- if it wasn’t the sheer matter of all the fucking _asshole drivers_ in this city, who, admittedly, were probably just regular drivers- it was the fact that Alexei seemed to be getting pretty miffed about them keeping a watch on them. And, frankly, he understood- it wasn’t like he hadn’t been the same way, getting out of the hospital back in college and being forced to have a roommate with _the same freaking schedule_.

 

“Do you want us to wait here?” He asks them, because really, it’s the least they can do- Alexei’s eyes are so dark, barely lucid and more worn out than anything, and it’s… worrisome. They honestly had some reason for being here, and it was probably something they didn’t want Miroslav or him looking in on… everyone liked to have their own business once in awhile. So he elaborates. “I know I like to be alone when I’m having problems… helps me clear my mind, get everything out. If you need some time, Miroslav and I will be here- unless there’s a back entrance, in which case, you’re stuck with us going in.”

 

They tilt their head back with a groan. But they don’t speak more after that; just keep their head up, shoulders going slack, and Miroslav has to wonder what it is that they’re so dreading. He’s looking at the windows and trying to catch a sign - though he does find a literal one, helpfully enough.

 

“‘Metaphysical Health’. Alexei, you’re into this placebo stuff?” he asks. They sigh. He shuts his mouth; he gets the feeling calling it a “placebo” would’ve been better for the classroom and not for real life. Even so, he never would’ve thought Alexei would come some place like this . . . then again, he’s not sure he knows much about them, anyways. All he’s known is that they’re a switch and that they’ve been leery of him since day one.

 

The silence stretches on, for moments and moments longer, and Miroslav wonders if they’re going to say anything at all. They finally lower their head, finally put a hand to their face . . . and then they bring both hands together, purse their lips, and finally speak.

 

“. . . first, no questions,” they say quietly. “Second, don’t act weird around the owners. And . . .” they finally sigh. “Three. If she wakes up, you come tell me.”

 

He raises a brow. “‘She’?”

 

They rub at their eyes. “I said no questions, Miroslav.”

 

Miroslav looked confused, his body almost seeming on edge, while Alexei just seems… strung out. Their posture’s completely rigid, looking almost worried about whatever they had come here for- rubbing their already bloodshot eyes, one hand shaking as they let it rest against their leg again. It’s a temptation to reach out, just ask them _hey, are you alright?_

 

Anakin isn’t sure why he doesn’t do it. Hell, he never seems to, not nearly enough, not with anyone but Blake… but it’s troubling. His head is aching from the strain of it all, the thoughts about what everyone’s doing, if Sylvain and Blake and Acacia are waking up right now, if he’s even going to do well on that interview later… _god, I need my coffee._

 

The sound of a door handle clicking snaps him out of the reverie, looking back as the door swings inward, and Alex half pushes by him and Miroslav to go inside. Peeking in, all he can see are an array of black shelves lined with colorful books, bright rugs, some candles flickering on a table across from the door…  there are scented oils on the same table, some mats that look like the type a lot of people use for yoga or meditation. Paintings line the walls, hard to really make out, even with his glasses clean and hiked up to his eyes.

 

He steps in behind them. And it’s strange, how sudden the change in atmosphere seems to shake him, too… a sense of stress just seems to peel away from his shoulders, though he tries not to show it, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, before flipping the hood up over his head to try and keep himself more out of sigh, not wanting any unnecessary attention.

 

He barely remembers not to ask questions.

 

It feels surreal. Miroslav’s not sure he’s ever been in a place like this, not with a family of Catholics to grow up with. He’s used to churches, after, just not . . . this. It reminds him of a very old temple, or some kind of seated service, or . . . something. He’s not sure. He’s not sure about much - at least until he’s looking up, staring at the old man who’d come out of the backroom, and sees the way the tension seems to completely drain out of Alexei’s back as the old man approaches.

 

“It has been a long time, Alexei-san.”

 

“ _Sensei_ ,” they say with a breath. They’re giving the man a bow, a deep one - and then stands up, reaches out, and gives him a hug.

 

“Ahh,” he sighs, and holds them back by the shoulders, looking them over. He gives their shoulders a squeeze. “You’ve been missing my classes. And you look worn out and thin.”

 

“It’s been two years since that day.”

 

“Ah, no doubt it has been. And these are your friends?”

 

Alexei finally turns to him and Anakin. “I guess . . . yeah. Miroslav and Anakin, this is Akiyama-sensei. He teaches traditional Japanese martial arts and does irezumi tattoo work. His wife is the manager here.”

 

“She should be here soon,” he says. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he says, “She’s been asking about you more and more. A curious little one; she’s alway asking when your next appointment is. I assume you’ll at least take care of her, for today?”

 

“We could . . . get some ice cream, I guess,” they say. Akiyama reaches across and pats their shoulders again.

 

“You know she comes from you,” he says simply. “That is all that matters.”

 

 _She. Her. ‘Little one’, ‘comes from you’._ It’s all Anakin can focus on, the extraneous details that were only serving to further confuse him. Hearing Alexei speak with the man- Akiyama- like this… it made him wonder about a lot. About why they were really here, and because _does Alexei have a kid?_ But that’s a thought that makes his blood almost run cold- because Alexei… would never do that if they had a choice, he thought. And when they’d told Acacia about the incident- what had sort of happened- and he’d overheard…

 

He wants to ask them, and he’s reaching forward to rest a hand on their shoulder, just gently, with a tiny murmur of “Alexei?” leaving his lips, feeling the way their shoulders shake slightly. They don’t look at him, eyes cast on a doorway to the side of the room, barely noticing… Anakin’s eyes flit to Miroslav, a worried expression on his face, only to see that the older man betrays almost the same expression he must be wearing.

 

Something’s wrong. This isn’t normal, not in the way that he expected from somebody like Alexei, who always bound their chest and so often confused him with their expression, masculine some days and almost feminine on others . . . and it’s wrong. Seeing them so open like this, so vulnerable, and then to hear all of the talk about what almost sounds like a child-

 

And then the side door is opening, and an older lady - dull auburn hair in a tight bun, a turquoise kimono of some sort, head held high and immediately finding Alexei’s face - is walking out, straight towards them.

 

And she’s carrying a _child_.

 

Miroslav grabs Anakin’s shoulder on instinct, to keep from spilling over with a million questions. The woman approaches Alex quietly, and holds out the child. Alex seems almost hesitant, as if they’re scared; they reach forward so slowly, careful with their hands, as if they’re scared of dropping the sleeping toddler . . . and then they’re hefting her into their arms, and the tension in their form seems to relax, after a couple of long moments.

 

He watches as they press a kid to the top of the child’s head. Bounce her a little. And finally, he hears them whisper: “Hey, _sukoshi hibana_. Mama’s here.”

 

It’s like a cold punch straight to the gut. His eyes are wide.

 

 _That’s . . . their kid_.

 

Alexei slowly turns to them - him and Anakin. They look more vulnerable than he’s ever seen, even with the tired eyes and the tense form and . . . and all of it. They look down at the child, and ruffle her hair. Finally, they reach forward, and Miroslav is forced to lift his hands and carefully take the child from their arms.

 

“Just . . . call me. If she wakes up,” they say, and then they turn away and follow the woman back into the side room, the door clicking shut behind them.

 

 _They have a kid._ The thought’s unsettling, almost too much so, making Anakin stifle his harsh breathing as he looks down at the girl, tries to take her in- dark hair and somewhat pale skin, her eyes shut tightly as if in such a deep slumber she’ll never wake up. But she’s clinging to Miroslav’s body, and Alexei’s shutting the door behind them as they slip into the other room, and Anakin’s looking at the expression of… almost nervousness on Miroslav’s face.

 

“C-can I hold her?” He’s asking, despite the alarm of it all, and Miroslav’s giving him a skeptical glance, but Anakin’s reaching out and Miroslav’s letting him take the child into his arms. He’s holding her close to his chest, her head against his shoulder as she breathes in and out softly, unmoving aside from the slight kick of her foot. His hand is stroking her hair, holding her as gently as he thinking he can, hushing her as a soft sound emanates from her lips.

 

Anakin looks back up to Miroslav, the older man’s body tensed up, and he’s just shaking his head quickly, looking back in the direction of the room where Alexei had disappeared, trying to calm the worried thoughts bouncing about inside his head. _They have a child? When? She’s at least a year old? Did he do this? What… what happened?_ There’s nothing he can voice, just letting his arm fall slightly to better prop the girl up on his shoulder, half tempted to whisper something to Miroslav. He finally does, after a few minutes.

 

“A-are you okay?”

 

“I . . .” Miroslav isn’t sure. The anxiety - it’s built up in his chest, and it hurts, a lot. He puts a hand to it and nods a little. “Y-Yeah. I think. This is . . . is this their _kid_ ? I never would’ve thought . . . there’s no _way_.”

 

It . . . disturbingly makes sense, though. When he thinks about it . . . the flashbacks, the strange anger, the odd behaviors . . . matched up with some kind of mental illness. Actually, it matched up with PTSD. And hadn’t they always acted strange around him, as well? Even thrown a stool at him when he tried to help? And now- they kept saying it, _two years_ , and the child only seems a little older than one. And he hates that his brain is kicking in, putting the pieces together, and he’s finally turning away to find one of the cushions to sit on, sitting down so hard his tailbone hurts.

 

“They were . . . holy _shit_. Is she a product of rape?”

 

Anakin sits down next to him without a word, and Miroslav sighs, ruffling his hands through his hair quickly, trying to calm his nerves. It’s only when he hears footsteps, and the ruffling of fabric, that he looks up, and finds the old man kneeling before them with a tray of cups and a kettle.

 

“Tea?” he asks. Miroslav nods. The man sits down in front of them and places the cups in front of them. Miroslav picks his up and takes a heavy sip, hot enough to burn, before setting it back down.

 

“A-Akiyama-sensei, was it?” he asks. “Wh-what on _earth_ . . .?”

 

He doesn’t sugarcoat his words when they finally slip out. “Is this… what happened after the incident? One of the reasons they’re always so distant after a flashback? I- you don’t have to talk about it, but… I know what they went through, kind of. The rape. They’ve been holding up decently for awhile, I just never thought…” the redhead trails off, chewing on his lip nervously as he holds the tiny girl closer to his body, rocking her slightly. “Sorry… I don’t have much of a filter. Are they going to be okay?”

 

“That is their story to tell, in large part,” Akiyama-sensei says with a nod. “But yes, this is the result of the assault, as they call it. It was one part of a long string of offenses, but I’m not at liberty to explain much of it. She, though,” he says with a nod to the child, “Might be the only redeeming factor for them - _if_ they would be willing to accept it. For now, however, my wife and I have been raising the girl. We’ve known Alexei for several years now, and we offered to raise her when they initially wanted to abort her.”

 

“I can’t-” Anakin cuts himself off, uncertain of whether or not he should say it. Not when he was holding onto the child, stroking her soft hair, not even minding the slight string of drool on his shirt. _I can’t say I blame them._ “I don’t necessarily- I mean… they should do what’s best for them. But… it isn’t her fault. She’s… she’s just a baby. I just… did it cause more trauma? For Alex… t-they’re my friend. We’re both worried.”

 

“You said that it was assault,” Miroslav says after a moment, “Not rape. Given that they got pregnant from it, I can’t imagine it was anything _less_ than rape.”

 

“It’s a complex story that they will have to explain,” Akiyama-sensei says again. He seems all too calm about it. Miroslav almost wants to hate him for it, but then again, he doesn’t know the whole story either. He picks up his mug again and takes a sip of the tea. It’s helping to calm him down, at least; he feels like if he says anything more, all of the anxiety will spill out of the back of his head in a huge storm, like he’ll self-destruct without meaning to.

 

He looks back to the girl in Anakin’s arms. She looks . . . peaceful. And Anakin’s right; none of it is the girl’s fault. She’s a toddler; she can’t know any better. He swallows, and looks back to Akiyama-sensei. “What’s her name?” he asks softly.

 

“Her name,” he says, “Is Izumi. She’s fifteen months old.”

 

At the sound of her name, she seems to rouse. She’s squirming a little in Anakin’s arms before her eyes open, and she looks up at him with big, green eyes. She blinks once, twice.

 

She asks, “New?” and then she tucks her face against his shoulder and simply repeats: “New.”

 

The way she says it makes Anakin feel warm, especially when she just tucks her face against his shoulder again, hardly attentive to what’s going on around her. She’s so tiny, so warm against his body that he can’t help giving a tiny giggle, followed by a soft sigh as he continues to run fingers through her hair, bouncing her in his arms and rubbing her back gently. “Yeah, Izumi. New,” he says quietly, before adding, “You’re sweet, aren’t you? So sweet. I bet Alexei’s proud.” He doesn’t know if it’s exactly good to say, but he hopes it’ll calm her down- thinks that she’d be happy to know, even if she can’t fully understand.

 

Then he’s looking back up to the man, Akiyama-sensei, and he’s giving him a soft frown. “Yeah… I don’t feel upset that they didn’t say anything. I can’t imagine they’d… really want us to be meddling in their issues. It’d be stupid to say I understand… but I do. I was… assaulted, too. Different than them, but… I can’t imagine any of this has been easy. They really just… need some people they can count on. I’m glad they have you.”

 

Akiyama-sensei seems to give a soft smile - it seemed like everything about him was soft, Miroslav thinks. “Alexei and I met a long time ago, back when they first came to America with their sibling. Back then they were very untethered, and didn’t have a way to ground, so my wife, Mei, helped them out quite a bit. We were there for them following the assault, as well; they stayed with us for the few months following the event, as well as for the trial. But when they decided to try and pick themselves back up again . . .”

 

“They didn’t feel they could bring the babe with them,” Miroslav finishes. He looks at Izumi. She seems so . . . innocent. She’s hardly a part of this, he thinks, simply an outcome. He doesn’t want to think of it as unfortunate; it wasn’t her fault, and she’s only a kid. Still, there’s so much weight on her shoulders already, being the child of abuse. It hurts just to look at her, and to think about it.

 

Still. He reaches out and slides a finger under her tiny fingers. Her eyes flutter open to look at him. She squeezes his finger and mumbles, “New?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, quiet for her fragile ears. “I’m a friend of your Mama’s. You can call me Miro.”

 

“Mi-wo?” she asks. Then, her eyes go big, and she starts squirming. “Mama? Mama, mama!” She looks up at Anakin with a wide smile on her face. “Mama?”

 

“Wh-” Anakin’s first response is confusion, just looking down at the little girl’s wide eyes, trying to calm her squirming body, as he says, “Yeah. Do you wanna go see your mama, Izumi?” He tries to make his voice as soft as possible, standing up, pulling her up with him, looking down at Miro with a smile. “Miro and I are friends of your mama. My name’s Ana.” He pauses, looking up to the door. “Al-”

 

Alexei’s stepping out into the room, along with the older woman- Mei, he vaguely recalls- and looking around before their eyes settle on Izumi quickly, looking slightly worried. “She’s been asking for you, Alex,” Anakin says softly, reaching down to pat her head again. “She’s so sweet. Such a good kid.”

 

Their brow is immediately creasing in confusion; “I thought I told you to-”

 

“Mama!” and Izumi’s squirmed out from Anakin’s arms, doing a fast toddle to Alexei before jumping up on her tip toes, arms held above her head. “Mama, mama! Miss!”

 

Alexei seems to smile a little bit at her, at least; that’s a good sign, Miroslav thinks. Alexei’s sitting down and pulling Izumi into their arms, pressing a couple of kisses to the squirming kid’s forehead. “Hey there, little cherry blossom. Have you been good for Akiyama and Mei?”

 

“Good!” she chirps, before reaching up and booping Alexei’s nose with her tiny hand. “Miss,” she says again. Alexei looks like they almost want to laugh.

 

“I’ve missed you too,” they say with a ruffle to their hair. The woman next to them - Mei - leans down and whispers something into their ear. They seem to tense up immediately, pulling back with a sharp “ _I know, I know, I get it_ -” before looking back to Izumi with a more strained smile. “You wanna go get ice cream with Mama? We can get chocolate for you.”

 

Izumi seems to light up even _more_ from the suggestion. It looks like she can hardly stay still, flapping her arms and giggling and saying in a sing-song voice, “Icies!”

 

“Yeah, ice cream,” Alexei says one more time. They look back up to them - Anakin and Miroslav - with another worried look. “Do you two mind? I, uh . . . got suckered into something.”

 

“‘Suckered’ isn’t the term I would use,” Mei says. She steps forward and holds out her hand while he and Anakin get up. “Akiyama Mei. I’m a reiki healer and the manager here.”

 

“Miroslav,” he says with a shake to her hand. “Miroslav Ivanov.”

 

“Your third eye and heart chakras are muddled,” she says immediately after touching his fingers. “Your throat chakra is, as well. You must allow yourself to express your feelings, yes?”

 

“Ah . . .” he pulls back, unsure what to say. Still, he looks to the side and shrugs, shuffling another hand through his hair. “Y-Yeah, I guess so. I’m . . . working on it.”

 

He isn’t even sure what to say when Mei begins talking to Miroslav, turning away and trying to avoid eye contact, swallowing roughly. Anakin suddenly feels completely out of place- unwanted. _I shouldn’t have bothered to… to come out here with them. I’m not helping them. Nobody gives a shit._

 

“Alex, do you… y’know, wanna go with Izumi alone? We can go run Miroslav’s errand and wait for you… unless you wanted us to go.” _Why the fuck would they want you to go? They didn’t even want you here. When do they ever want you anywhere? Any of them?_ “Just… let me know.”

 

When he looks back, he can see the worried look Alexei’s giving him, almost like . . . like their feelings were hurt. “Well . . . yeah, I want you two to come with,” they say before looking down at the ground. “I . . . please. I just . . .need the company right now.”

 

“I… I want the company too,” is the quick confession, Anakin’s throat wanting to close up. “Thank you… just… it’s better to be with friends, right? L-let’s go. The car’s just a block down.”

* * *

 

 

The ice cream place wasn’t far, and from what Miroslav can tell, Alexei’s not unfamiliar with it. The couple running it were Japanese; it took a quick conversation between the three, some exchanged bills, and all of a sudden they were all sitting, with bowls of ice cream in front of them and a very excited child on Alexei’s lap.

 

Izumi, for as peaceful as she was before, still seems somewhat shy even now. She’s looking up at Alexei, babbling a little bit in her own language, before Alexei is picking up the spoon and taking a little spoonful of chocolate ice cream, carefully feeding it to Izumi. Her whole face lights up - and then she shivers and makes a scrunched-up face. _Brain freeze_ , he thinks as she whines and smacks her lips.

 

He looks down at his own ice cream, before grabbing his spoon and quietly digging in. It’s a little early in the morning for it, he thinks, but . . . well, it was food at least. He looks back up to Alexei. “It’s okay for her to have ice cream so early?” he asks. Alexei shrugs, and pats Izumi’s head as the toddler takes the spoon and attempts to feed herself.

 

“I don’t think it’s a big deal. Besides, she’ll be fed well for the rest of the week,” they say before looking down at her. “Um . . . they s-sort of convinced me to take her home for the week. Said that I owed them one and that if Inari was coming anywa- oh,” they stop, and sigh. “Uh . . . that too. Inari, my sister, is coming over tonight. Y-You should know about that, too. S-So . . . family reunion, I guess.”

 

“Honestly, it sounds great… I was thinking about going out to get some stuff for the week after we took care of your stuff. Maybe we can pick some stuff up for Izumi, too. And movies- I dunno, whatever shi- stuff you think Inari would like.” Anakin’s half mumbling, his voice even lighter than it usually is, leaning forward with a napkin to wipe off a smudge of ice cream across Izumi’s nose. “Be careful,” he whispers to her, leaning in closer. “I know messes can be fun, but the ice cream belongs in your mouth, not all over your face.”

 

Tapping the table lightly, he pulls out, glancing up to Alexei with a slightly more serious look on his face. “Uh… you know…” he scratches the back of his neck with a tattooed hand, giving a muted frown. “If you need to talk about anything- the flashbacks, the incident, your… you know, anything you need at all. I’m here. I can’t claim to understand it fully, but I can relate, at least a bit. If you need anything, Alex… just to talk, or go hang out, get your mind off things. I’m generally free.”

 

They seem to go even quieter, at that. Miroslav isn’t entirely sure what to say; Izumi seems entirely unaware of it all, just digging in without a care in the world. And why shouldn’t she? None of this was her fault, she was just . . . just an outcome. Putting any kind of good or bad to it seems so . . . harsh, considering how young she is.

 

Alexei seems to think so, too, looking over Izumi as she reached up and tried to feed her Mama some ice cream. Alexei at least reaches forward and sucks some of the ice cream off before kissing the top of Izumi’s head, content to let her giggle and munch away, but when they finally speak, they sound . . . defeated. “How much did Akiyama-sensei tell you?”

 

“Just- not much. Honestly, it . . . wasn’t hard to figure out,” Miroslav says quietly.

 

“Hmm,” they go. Alexei sighs, and tucks their arms around Izumi’s waist. They won’t look up at him. “I . . . guess it wasn’t much of a secret.”

 

“I’m a psych major. Once I put the pieces together it seemed fairly obvious that you had some form of PTSD.”

 

“I . . .” they swallow. “His . . . name was Seth. He started out as one of my play partners - and then I thought some sort of romance was involved, so we moved in together. But everything he did that hurt me, it started to go on outside the bedroom. It was abusive. So . . . one night, when he said he wanted to have sex with me, I said no. I was too scared he’d hurt me worse.”

 

“And then he did,” Miroslav says. Alexei’s arms tighten around their daughter.

 

“He- pinned me down. Slapped me, flogged me, tied me up. And then he came inside. When he finally fell asleep, I m-managed to untie myself and I ran and hid in another room to call the police. I was taken to the hospital for a few days, but . . . there wasn’t much they could do. I learned a few weeks later that I was pregnant.”

 

They sound so defeated. Miroslav’s not sure what to say, if anything. They reach up and push the hair out of their face. He suspects it’s for more than that, more likely to hide tears.

 

“That wasn’t even the worst part,” they say miserably. “I’m used to being handled that roughly - it was that he violated my consent. Even then, I . . . I was stupid. I decided to take it to court. And you can only _imagine_ what happened.”

 

“Jesus, Alex-”

 

“‘Evidence shows that this type of behavior has been exhibited in the past without intervention’. ‘All of the behaviors taken place in the act were no different from their lifestyle choices’. ‘Given the physique of the supposed victim . . . their appearance . . . it must have been possible for them to escape their bindings, and thus when they did not . . .’ ‘They were already involved in a consentful non-consent based relationship’.” they stop. He can see the tears dropping onto Izumi’s hair; even she looks up at Alexei seems to shake. The sobs almost overwhelm their voice. “ _Consentful non-consent_ . Like they f-fucking knew what they were talking about. Like he was allowed to violate me, just because we’d fucked that way over and over again. And that’s not even the worst part. The worst of it was hearing the prosecution call me a ‘confused, ignorant chink’. As if because I was asian, I didn’t know what I was doing, and like I’d made a giant fuss about _nothing_.”

 

“Alexei.”

 

They sniffle, and cover up their eyes with their forearm as they shake. “I-I’m sorry,” they stammer out. “Just- it’s so much better now. Acacia- she makes me feel safe, and normally I’m- I’m over it, and I’m fine and safe, b-but- it was two years ago, _today_ . I-I know it shouldn’t happen again, because of the restraining order, b-but he was never put away and I had to pay so many of the legal fees, I couldn’t go back to school,” they swallow, and finally add, softly, “I’m not sure I would now, if I could. After all, I’m just a confused, ignorant _chink_.”

 

“Hey, hey…” is only barely audible, but there’s a kleenex being dabbed around their eyes, and even though their hands are shaking, they’re still holding tight to Izumi, like a lifeline of some sort. And then Anakin’s just swallowing back what he wants to say, and he’s looking over to Miroslav, and murmuring softly, “Alex, can Miroslav take Izumi for a second?”

 

They don’t seem to make much of a movement, but they allow Miroslav to pull the child from their arms, and he’s standing up, moving around to pull them close, trying to brush hair back from their face. “They have no right to fucking say that about you. The courts- they’ve never helped anyone. Don’t know a goddamn thing, okay?” He’s keeping his voice low, trying to whisper them so they only hit Alexei’s ears, just rubbing soft circles across their back and pulling them closer still. “You didn’t deserve any of that. Fuck, Alexei- you’re one of the strongest people I know. Even Acacia, Sylvain, Blake… they’re all well aware of that.”

 

He pauses, swallows softly. “You’ve had a rough time of it, but… you have us now, and hopefully the courts are out of your life for a long time to come. Because believe me, if anyone ever says something like that to you again, I don’t care what they do to defend themselves, I will _fight them_ for you. All of us- me, Acacia, Miroslav… you’re our friend. And you’re still strong, still going on in spite of all this. Don’t let anyone run you into the ground because they have no idea what they’re talking about.” Anakin stops abruptly, pulling back to look at them, hand smoothing hair back and flipping it out of their face again. “Do you want to walk? Just try and get all the emotion off your chest?”

 

“I . . . y-yeah,” they say as they finally stand up, leaning half against Anakin to stay upright. “J-Just . . . some fresh air. A-And Izumi could finish her ice cream?”

 

“I think she wants to finish it,” Miroslav teases as he sits down in Alexei’s spot so Izumi can get to the ice cream. “If you two want to step outside or something, the two of us can sit here and finish. If that’s okay?”

 

“Yeah . . . I’m ok-kay with that,” Alexei nods. “Just- d-don’t let her get hurt.”

 

“Of course I won’t.”

 

They nod, hesitantly. They still seem skeptical, but at least they go with Anakin when he ushers them outside, the bell hanging on the door ringing as they walk out. Izumi doesn’t seem to notice it. She’s just distracted by ice cream.

 

Hearing that whole story, and the details . . . it made him shake, just hearing it. Besides all of the bullshit they’d had to go through, they’d been so emotional, so unlike themselves that it threw him for a loop. But they’d also held Izumi so tightly, and so close to their body, that he can’t help but think there was a reason for it. _At least they’re not throwing her away entirely_ , he thinks with a look back down to the child. _And at least they know - hopefully - how much we care about them_.

 

Care . . . dammit, he was never good with shit like that. Not with talking about his feelings or anything. After all, growing up at home . . . well, feelings weren’t things he felt able to talk about. And back then, he’d made real bad decisions with his anxiety, ones that his family couldn’t prevent. Now, though, people at least seemed to care. Through the fucked-up shit that they all had had to deal with, they were at least supporting each other, like a real family would. All six of them, really. He’s not sure he doesn’t love each and every one of them . . .

 

And then he thinks about what he came here for.

 

He holds Izumi tighter. She looks up at him with big, green eyes.

 

“Icies?” she asks. He looks to her bowl. There’s nothing left.

 

“Looks like no more ice cream, kiddo,” he says with a kiss to the top of her head. He reaches across the table and grabs his own ice cream, placing the bowl on her head with a vocal “boop” that makes her giggle as he works on finishing his.

 

“Mama?” she asks. Her voice is curious. He ruffles her hair with a free hand.

 

“Mama went to get some fresh air,” he says. Miroslav also asks, “Do you get to see Mama often?”

 

She scrunches up her face. It seems difficult when she finally puts on a voice and says “just few”.

 

“‘Just a few more days’? Is that what Akiyama-sensei and his wife tell you?”

 

“ _Obaasan_ ,” she says simple.

 

“Do you like your _obaasan_?”

 

She gives him a big nod. “ _Thiiiiis_ much,” she says as she holds her arms out wide. He almost wants to laugh.

 

“What about your _ojiichan_?”

 

“ _Thiiiiis_ much!” she says, again, holding her arms wide with a giggle.

 

“Okay, then,” he says as he adjusts her in his lap, “One last question: how much do you like your Mama?”

 

She blinks at him with big eyes. She looks at her little hands.

 

And then she says: “A lot.”

 

He’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. Because it seems like she wants to express it, show how much she loves her mother, but she doesn’t seem to have the language to express it. He points to one wall, and then the wall across - a lot bigger than her armspan. “Is _that_ how much you love them?”

 

She giggles. “Noooo . . .”

 

He points to the other wall-across-wall, this time longer. “What about that much?”

 

“Nooooo!”

 

She’s giggling so much it’s adorable. He kisses her forehead and bounces her. “So then how much?” he asks.

 

“Like . . . like . . . lots of icies,” she says as she makes lots of circles with her hands. “Lots and lots and lots of icies.”

 

“And how much do you like ice cream?”

 

She throws her arms so wide she nearly falls out of his lap. He laughs and pats her head before picking her up and walking her outside.

 

“Well,” he says, “I can see where your priorities are. Now let’s go find your Mama.”

* * *

 

 

The building was abnormally quiet when they got back, Izumi tightly held in Alexei’s arms, head pressed against their chest as she gave tiny noises of something Anakin could’ve placed as happy. The lobby was dimly lit, elevator taking far too long to come down to the first floor as they waited there. Miroslav’s face was red, his body looking even worse than it had that morning in terms of bruising, now sporting a large one along the side of his neck as well.

 

And then there was a tiny click and the elevator doors were sliding open, allowing Alexei to step in first, with Izumi, before they quickly followed as Miroslav’s finger pressed the button to get back up to their floor. There was a tiny cry from Izumi as it started moving, almost in discomfort, prompting Anakin to give a tiny frown as Alexei ran fingers through her hair.

 

“You alright?” He’s asking them, trying to make sure that they aren’t going to break down again, because seeing them in pain is painful. But they’re just nodding, and the doors are sliding open again, and they aren’t even to the apartment before the door’s opening.

 

“Hey…? Who’s this?” Sylvain’s voice is breathy, if not more than a bit confused, looking to the child in Alexei’s arms in surprise.

 

He hadn’t expected Sylvain would answer the door. Miroslav hides the bag in his hands behind his back while Sylvain’s distracted with Izumi, who looks up at him sleepily before reaching up and bumping his nose with a little fist. He pulls back, almost surprised, and Miroslav chuckles before going, “This is Alexei’s daughter, Izumi.”

 

“Izu . . . mi?” she goes, reaching out towards him. “Hug?”

 

“I . . . uhh, had to bring her here,” Alexei says awkwardly as they shift Izumi in their arms. “Deal with the Akiyamas for a week. Plus, uhh, Inari is coming over, too. My sister. Um . . . unless they’re here already.”

 

“You said she’d be here in the evening, right? Only five now,” Miroslav says. He bites his lip and finally asks, “You have a sister? I didn’t know you had any siblings. What about your parents?”

 

“Parents died in a fire when I was five. That’s where I got this,” they say as they trace the scar on their cheek. “I was trapped under a door and survived. Inari was having a playdate the night it happened, so she was untouched. And . . . well, besides that, I just don’t talk about her very much. She’s majoring in lit though. She’s halfway to a degree in just a year. I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Smart kid, right?” he asks. Alexei shrugs.

 

“We made . . . a deal. I get the feeling she’s going to hold up her end of it.”

 

Sylvain flinches away slightly, furrowing his brow as he examines the child, before shrugging and turning around. “Well, at least you’re back. We were planning on running out and getting some movies later anyway-”  


“I already went to the store,” Anakin says, looking past Sylvain’s shoulder with a stoic expression as the older man turns back to look at him, something decidedly unfriendly etched on his face for the briefest of moments. It's gone as soon as it seemed to appear, though, and Sylvain shakes it off with a half-smile.

 

“If you need help putting groceries away, just ask.”

 

He’s gazing at Miroslav again, eyes dragging over his form, taking in the bruises, the messy shirt, the worn out expression on his face. “Hey, babe, you wanna lie down?” He’s asking, unsurprised when Miroslav gives a quick nod, offering a smile to him that doesn’t really play out as one. Sylvain’s pulling the door further open, letting them walking into the room, lights bright overhead.

 

“I, uh… ‘m gonna go fix some stuff real quick,” Anakin breathed. “For me, I mean. Maybe get some stuff ready for Izumi, if Alex allows me the honor?” He’s offering the person in question a soft smile, his voice somehow barely audible at all in the flat.

 

“Izumi could use a lie down, to be honest. I think it’s her nap time,” they say. Izumi immediately starts pouting.

 

“Nappy-nap?”

 

“Yep, kiddo. You need to cuddle with Miro and Ana and get some sleep.”

 

“But noooo . ..”

 

“If you do, we can watch movies later.”

 

“Moo!”

 

“Mo-vie. Can you say mo-vie?”

 

“Moo, bee!”

 

He takes the chance of their laughter to hightail it to his room, shoving his bag under his bed before joining them, hoping his absence wasn’t noticed for long. Sylvain looks almost . . . uncomfortable. It’s sort of funny, but at the same time . . . “Are you okay, Mas- Sylvain?” he reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. “You seem . . . offput.”

 

“Grandpa’s just a little grumpy. Here, hold her,” Alexei is plopping Izumi into Sylvain’s arms. Miroslav can see his eyes go wide. “I have to put stuff away in my room,” is all they say as they carry the bags-upon-bags of baby stuff down the hallway.

 

Izumi looks up at Sylvain and reaches up to boop his nose again. “Boop?”

 

Sylvain looks back down to Miroslav. His eyes scream absolute _panic_.

 

. . . Miroslav steps back and holds his hands up. For as much as he wants to help - oh gosh, _no_ , he needs to see this. This was going to be good.

 

Sylvain’s eyes flitted back to the child held in his arms, scrunching up his nose where she’d tapped it. Extending his arms a bit, he attempts to hold the squirming girl as far away from his body as possible without dropping her. “Uh… yeah, kid. Boop.” The entire scenario is frustrating--  _Miroslav is so getting punished later, I've told him how uncomfortable I find children--_ only serving to annoy him as he quickly makes his way back to the couch and gingerly sets the child down beside Blake, instantly trying to backtrack away from her. “Alexei’s kid,” he elaborates. "J-just do something for her."

 

“I’ve never heard you stutter before, Sylvain,” Blake says, an amused snort leaving his mouth as he pulls the girl onto his lap, wrapping her up in the blanket that he’d been using to cover his legs. “You really are squeamish with kids.”

 

“'Squeamish' is the _last_ thing I am,” Sylvain attempts to respond coolly, spinning around on his heel and wandering back to the kitchen where Acacia’s making dinner. The German woman gives an amused laugh from the position where she’s standing by the teapot, hands braced back against the countertop as she turns to face him.

 

“Sounds like bunch of bullshit to me, Sylvain,” she teases, a smirk playing across her angular features. “Seriously. How are you going to deal with it when Miroslav finds a child and brings them home? Or when Blake forces you to go into work with him?”

 

“Just another reason why I didn’t see eye to eye with... some other people,” he comments nonchalantly, eying Anakin's jacket where it's been tossed on the ground carelessly. “It’s nothing against the kids, Acacia- really. It’s just their age. They’re nowhere near bearable until they’re at least eight.”

 

There’s a sudden curse from the other end of the hallway, before Anakin blunders back into their living room, retrieving the battered jacket and shrugging it over his skinny shoulders. “I forgot something- gotta go. Take care of Izu for me, okay? Alex had a rough day. I know Acacia’s already prepared for cuddles and shit, but- I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

 

Miroslav’s grabbing Anakin before he can race out; “What is it? Anything I can help you with?” He squeezes his wrist. “You look awfully panicked.”

 

“No medication… I called the doctor, pharmacy should have them in by tonight, sooo… I’m running out. I-it’s nothing, really, fuckin’ hell, Miroslav,” it’s too obvious that he isn’t being completely honest, Anakin’s hand finding the hem of his sleeve to tug roughly on it. “I just have some stuff to take care of, too. With… a friend. So it’ll be a bit… I should’ve mentioned it earlier, but I totally forgot. Just take care of yourself, man.”

 

“What kind of friend?” Miroslav asks. When he doesn’t respond, he sighs and waves Blake over. “Go with him,” he says as he takes Izumi from him. “It’s been a rough day for all of us and the buddy system rarely fails.”

 

“I’m not taking anyone,” is the automatic response, before Anakin’s moving past Blake quickly and slamming the door to the apartment open. “Please, just don’t, a'ight?” And then it’s slamming closed behind him and Blake’s giving them an apologetic glance.

 

“It's a rough time for him right now,” is all he says, without much real semblance of an answer. “Should just worry about Izumi and Alex for the time being. Especially since we've got a guest coming. I’ll try and go after him, but honestly, Anakin probably just wants to be alone for a bit.”

 

“Yeah, well . . . I guess Alexei and Anakin have similar issues. Might’ve made his flare up?” Miroslav gnaws on his lower lip. “Well . . . I hope he’s okay. He’s a good guy; he just doesn’t realize it yet.”

 

“Good?” Izumi asks in his arms. He smile and bounces her, letting her giggle.

 

“Yeah, Anakin’s a good guy. He was going to let you cuddle with him.”

 

She gasps and starts clapping. Miroslav smiles and walks back to the couch, lowering himself down and pulling the blankets up over the two of them, even over her head for a moment as she giggles. He’s half-tempted to make Alexei bring her here full-time . . . she’s a cutie pie. He says as much as he sees Alexei walk back into the room: “She’s very well-behaved.”

 

“Living with Akiyama-sensei and Mei does that to people,” Alexei says quietly. “Without their help, I never would’ve gotten through the last two years. And now, of course . . .” they walk behind Acacia and wrap arms around her waist, pushing their face against her shoulder. “Now Acacia helps me. And I appreciate it. A lot.”

 

“You know that it is hardly a big deal to me, Alexei. I love you so I take care of you. All I want is for you to be happy with me- so I do not care what form happiness takes.” She’s turning her head to kiss Alexei’s cheek, noses brushing against each other slightly with a soft smile at the younger. “I adore you, my Alex.”

 

It’s enough that even Sylvain can’t help but give a tiny smile, shaking his head. “Yeah. But you know you have all of us, too, Alex. If you need the help.” He’s leaning down to open the refrigerator, rummaging through the drawers before he can pull out a yogurt, before looking up and half-meeting eyes with the girl in Miroslav’s arms. _Er… gonna take some getting used to._ He’s turning back to the counter, trying to rummage through the drawers for a spoon to avoid letting his eyes linger on the scene behind him.

 

“So, uh… when’s your sister coming, Alex?”

 

“Sometime this evening, apparently. I’m . . . sort of excited, I guess. I’m trying to think . . . she’s been on estrogen for a few months now, I guess? I don’t know. I’ll have to do the math later,” they say as they rock back and forth against Acacia, hips gently swaying as they seem to nearly fall asleep against her. They take a deep breath. “Mm . . . what’s for dinner, sweetheart? Smells good.”

 

Miroslav takes a deep breath. “Well . . . it smells like mac and cheese,” he says. “And some ham. Going fancy tonight, huh?”

 

At the sound of “mac and cheese”, Izumi seems to perk up, clapping her hands rapidly again. Miroslav smiles and ruffles her hair. “What do you want for dinner, sweetheart?”

 

“Cookie!”

 

“That’s a dessert thing, silly.”

 

“But cookie! Fluff!”

 

“I think you mean a biscuit.”

 

“Fluffy cookie!”

 

“Yeah, she means biscuit,” Alexei says from across the room. They sound tired again, almost drowsy. “She doesn’t know how to say biscuit though. She ends up saying a bad word instead.”

 

She pouts. “Bad . . .”

 

“More like ‘fun’. Though that’s fun you wait for until you are an adult,” Miroslav says. He can see Sylvain sitting next to him, carefully keeping his eyes averted as he puts his yogurt down, but Miroslav just shrugs and grabs him, pulling him down next to him and tossing the blanket over them both. “Sylvain,” he says. “It’s a baby. She is harmless. Also, you will not break her. She just wants to boop you.”

 

Already, Izumi is grabbing his shirt and hiding her face in it with a content little “boop . . .”

 

Sylvain gives a rough sigh, letting his hand comb through the child’s hair. He rewards her with a tiny pat on the head when she hides her face in his shirt, exhaling with his eyes dull and his expression exhausted. “This is one of the main reasons why I’ve disagreed on things in relationships, you realize,” he paused, sighing roughly. “Although, I must admit. She’s very well behaved for a child her age.”

 

Her tiny hands grab ahold of his shirt and Sylvain doesn't even bother to try and move them this time. Izumi pushes her face into the fabric and curls close to his chest with a mild noise of contentment, and even though Sylvain lets out a long, displeased sigh, he decides it'd just be cruel to try and prevent the kid's rest again. Izumi is napping against him, so she's not making anything difficult, and Miroslav's got a smile on his face and his eyes look fairly happy, so…

 

_I'm going to regret this later._

 

He lets the kid do as she wants without complaint.

* * *

 

 

They’re about to sit down for dinner when there’s the knock at the door. Alexei seems to freeze in their place, halfway to putting the macaroni on the table, so it’s Acacia that has to answer the door. There’s silence for a few moments, just a few words of “Look at you!” and “Look at _you_!” that he can really pick up until Miroslav can see Acacia pulling in Alexei’s sister into the room.

 

To be honest, he’s thrown for a loop for a second. His mind phases between male and female, just looking at her, and it occurs to him that this was something Alexei had _not_ told them about . . . probably because it was a sensitive subject. But he can see the narrow figure of Inari’s body, how her hips seem to be fighting to show in her little flowery onesie, and how her legs are completely shaved from ankle and up the thighs; the hair left there looks somewhat soft, but he can tell, somehow, that it couldn’t have been like that before. It’s an in-between. And then he looks to her face, to thicker brows and a five o’clock shadow that seemed so soft, and he realizes. Inari, he thinks, is probably transgender.

 

But that doesn’t matter. She still looks _great_ , smaller than her sibling but absolutely adorable in her spaghetti-strap, short-short one-piece, and Alexei finally unfreezes with a cry as they put the macaroni down (almost too hastily) and rushes over to pull their sister into a hug.

 

“My god!” Inari cries out - her voice surprisingly high - as she pushes her sib back and looks them over. “You look _great_! Well, I mean - overall. You’ve lost weight, Sib.”

 

“What are you _talking_ about?!” Alexei asks, their smile shaking. “Y-You look _fantastic_ , Inari! Y-You look- _amazing_ -”

 

And suddenly they’re crying, pulling their sister closer and sobbing into her shoulder uncontrollably, and Inari seems to freeze for a moment. She relaxes, though, and pats her sib’s back. “Hey, hey . . . it’s okay, you know. I’ve missed you.”

 

“M-Missed you too,” they sob. “S-Shit sucks right now . . .”

 

“I know,” she says softly. Then she’s looking around the room, asking, “So where’s my niece? Is it okay if the first thing I want to do is play with her?”

 

Alexei seems to muffle a chuckle into her shoulder along with another sob. “Sh-She’s a cutie, alright.”

 

“She is _such_ a cutie. And for the record: I bought her some clothes while I was driving over here, so she is going to look _fantastic_. Seriously. Nothing can beat a rhinestone, bright pink onesie. She’s going to look like a tiny Teletubbie, except a thousand times cuter.”

 

“She is already such a cutie,” Acacia’s voice pipes up, now holding the little girl in her arms, playfully bouncing her. “Imagine how adorable she would look in one of those animal onesies. Inari, convince your sibling.” And then she’s walking over and setting the girl in Inari’s arms as Izumi gives a tiny squeak, looking up at her with wide eyes.

 

There’s a pause, as it seems like Inari is about to say something else, before there’s the sound of a cup falling on the floor and a soft, “Holy _shit.”_ It’s immediately muffled at seeing the child, before Blake’s dropping to his knees to pick up the cup, trying to wipe the tea off the floor. Then he’s jumping back up and looking at Inari, seemingly mindless of the fact that there’s a ratherlarge stain on his thigh as he walks over to her.

 

“Well, hello there,” there’s a pause, before he’s extending a hand with a rather large grin that almost seems out of place on his face, even if he generally was a bit of a dork. “Inari, right? I’m Blake. Er, well… formerly Brenda, but it's Blake now. Nice to finally meet you-- always happy to meet other people like me.” There’s a cough, before he’s looking down, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck before adding, “Besides, you’re, uh… p-pretty cute.”

 

 _Brenda?_ Is all Miroslav thinks. It seems weirdly out of place, looking at Blake like he is - and then it hits him. _Oooh. Is he trans, too? I guess he sort of transitioned already?_ He’s not entirely sure - he doesn’t know much about that sort of thing - but then again, he never would’ve guessed, looking at him (or feeling him, for that matter). Inari seems to take far less time to think that out, though; her cheeks are already turning bright red, and she’s trying to hide a smile as she takes his hand and gives it a firm shake.

 

“H-Hi. Inari. Um . . . used to be Pavel,” she says before pulling away. She seems off-balance, unable to pull her eyes away from his face. Miroslav can already tell; _they’d be cute together_. It’s only when Izumi gives a little whine that Inari is able to look down and tangle her fingers in Izumi’s hair. “Hi! I missed you, dumpling!”

 

“Ina?” she asks, reaching up to pull at Inari’s lengthy hair. Inari laughs.

 

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that. S-So, um, Blake - you have extra room next to you at the table? I don’t know what’s for dinner, but-”

 

“M-Mac and cheese,” Alexei says as they finish wiping away their tears. “And ham. And fluffy cookies, because Izumi asked.”

 

“Fluffy cookies?” she asks. Alexei nods.

 

“Hey,” they ask her with a grin as they pluck her out of their sister’s arms. “Who do you want to sit next to at dinner tonight?”

 

She looks around the room. Miroslav barely keeps himself from bursting into laughter when Izumi holds out her hands towards Sylvain.

 

“Fluffy?” she asks. Then: “Jaspee?”

 

 _Jaspee_ ? Then, Miroslav goes: “Oh, she means Jasper,” and then he’s looking at Sylvain and covering his mouth quickly as he tries not to burst into laughter again. “I mean, if she’s talking about who I think, he _does_ look a little bit like her . . .”

Sylvain can't figure out what's going on anymore. It takes several minutes before the thought even clicks, along with the revelation that he's just been compared to a Steven Universe character, before the man just groans and rolls his eyes with a huff. But regardless, the way Izumi is smiling at him, wide eyed and clapping her hands in something akin to excitement is  enough to make him just give up and accept his fate of being doomed to become her unofficial best friend for the rest of the evening. He shrugs off his trepidation, standing to his feet with an audible moan as the child toddles along behind him, having gotten away from her parent's grasp. Izumi’s hand tugs on his pant leg gently, staring up at him with wide, dark eyes as she grins.

 

Sylvain’s definitely not thinking about picking her up when the door swings open. He barely registers the sound of someone attempting to cover up a muffled sob, before it's quickly turned into a smile the second his eyes connect with Anakin. Miroslav’s moved into the kitchen already, and the air of awkwardness in the room is so goddamn heavy Sylvain can hardly breathe.

 

"She’s a sweetheart, isn't she?" Anakin asks him, as the ginger slides his jacket off his shoulders, kneeling on the floor to pick her up. "Don't be mean to children, Sylvain."

 

"I wasn't being mean," is the only protest he has to give, offering a toned down grimace to Izumi, which for Sylvain is fairly similar to a smile. He could still hear Inari and Blake talking somewhere in the back of his mind, but he doesn't feel up for trying to join in with conversation-- at least not for the time being. So he startles, abruptly, and turns away.

 

"I need to go get Miroslav," Sylvain adds quickly, using the excuse to flee for a brief moment after his eyes catch sight of the raven haired man standing alone in the kitchen. "Have fun, kids."

 

“Sylvain!” Miroslav gives him a muted glare before tapping him over the head with the cooking spoon in his hand. “Be nice to the kid! I just said, she only wants to boop you!”

 

As if on cue, he can hear a giggly “boop!” in the background. He points to where he’d last seen Anakin.

 

“See? She’s harmless. And she loves you - so be nice. Be a good _role model_ like Mei and Akiyama-sensei are.”

 

“Akiyama-sensei? Oh, how’s he doing?” Inari’s asking from across the room. Miroslav leans past Sylvain to answer.

 

“I didn’t get to know him well, but he seemed okay. As did Mei.”

 

“They . . . went with me for my reiki session,” Alexei admits nervously. Miroslav can see Anakin wandering over to them, one of his fingers trapped between Izumi’s lips as she suckles on the digit, probably trying to teethe a little bit. He can’t help but notice the way he’s looking up, meeting Inari’s eyes . . . and Miroslav hides a chuckle as Alexei looks on, bewildered, as Inari’s eyes go wide.

 

“I . . . h-have we been introduced?” she’s asking, her toes pointing together and her knees seeming to knock just from looking at him. She stretches out her hand. “I-I’m Inari. Alexei’s- um- sister. Y-You look so cute, like Blake. H-Have you always been so good with kids?”

 

"Huh?" Anakin's voice was higher than normal, almost unnaturally pitched as his eyes met the woman's, too focused on the way Izumi was half suckling his ring finger. "Uh, sorry. I didn't quite catch that...? Babies, man." the twenty two year old bit his lip, looking away with a heavy blush as he pulled Izumi closer to his body, resting her head on his shoulder with his hand rubbing encouraging circles on her back.

 

Blake gave an amused cough, eyes flitting between the two figures and the blushes shading both of their cheeks, muffling a laugh as the red seems to creep through his lover's entire face. There’s some hilarity in it all, he deduces, patting Inari’s shoulder with a soft, "I'll save you a seat."

 

Hardly able to look at the woman, Anakin gives a short cough, nodding quickly. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I always really liked kids. Even when I was a kid myself, just-- loved the idea of taking care of my own someday. I think I told my first grade teacher my dream was to be a stay-at-home mom, so I was actually pretty disappointed when I was told I couldn't. Now I just... write things. Things like... okay, I'll have to tell you another time, it's really not appropriate dinner conversation. So, yeah... I'm Anakin, by the way... Inari, was it?"

 

“Awww . . .” Inari seems to be almost mewling at the thought. She takes his hand and gives him an awkward smile, saying, “I told my kindergarden teacher I wanted to be a construction worker. He said that work was for boys.” She starts tugging him over to her seat, to sit beside her - where she’s, of course, sitting across from Alexei, and next to Blake. “Sit with us? You seem like a lot of fun. And you’re so _cute_. U-Um . . . d-don’t mind the appearance thing,” she says with a quick wave to her chest . . . and overall body, Miroslav supposes. “J-Just- several months on estrogen. Looking at top surgery soon. J-Just need to fill in the gaps.”

 

“Inari,” Alexei says as they sit down, “You’re rambling again.”

 

“I am _not_ !” she cuts back as she plops down in her seat and pulls Anakin down with her. “Okay,” she says as she meets his eyes, “I want to know _everything_. What kind of stuff do you write? Have you always been great with children? How do you like Izu?”

 

At the name, Izumi reaches up and boops Inari in the nose. She’s laughing, laughing a whole lot - just looking at her, Miroslav wouldn’t think that she’d be related to the much more somber Alexei. Alexei, who hardly smiles in such an open way, and who limited such expressions to their sultry smirks or their nervous attempts at changing the subject. In contrast, Inari’s a wave of emotion - positive ones, that is. Miroslav thinks he understands why.

 

He gives Sylvain a wink before finally picking up the pan of “fluffy cookies” and bringing them over to the table. “We might as well dig in, then,” he says as the chatter quiets down. “It’s been a long-ass day, and we all need some food in our systems.”

 

Anakin can't prevent the blush from growing further, looking down at his hands as he fiddled awkwardly with the hem of his shirt. He gave a frown, before saying with a soft smile, "Um, well... I've always really enjoyed being around kids. And Izumi seems pretty even-tempered compared to most. She's not very rough-- okay, actually, if I'm being honest she's just completely adorable. It's easy to hold and play with her, and she's so inquisitive about everything... she's a really great kid."

 

The redhead paused, thinking about the other question. "I write a lot of novels on human realism... I'm trying to just get the stories out there, I guess. And it's okay if you ramble, by the way. So do I, I think. Or, at least I get told that a lot. I'm not very good with people, to be honest." Anakin bites his lip again, harsher than before. "So... food?"

 

Sylvain nods, almost too thankful for the rescue from the situation. His eyes fall on the chatting pair across the table from him with a sigh, half ready to say fuck it all and put his head in his hands to try and quell the headache that was probably going. Admittedly, the kid was cute. Not that he'd really want to or be able to admit that out loud. Fuck, he didn't know what to do with children.

 

"A long-ass day indeed," he says, hand reaching over for a biscuit, still hardly paying attention to what was going on around the table. "Probably going to bed early."

 

"I think that counts for all of us," Acacia replied jokingly, giving a tiny smile. "Everyone seems pretty worn out." She's working on trying to tie her hair back into a ponytail, holding her arms over her head as she works quickly.

 

"Can Inari stay the night in our room?" Anakin's voice pipes up quietly. "Just because, you know, she's really nice." A pause. "Also, Blake and I make blanket forts sometimes and sleep under them and it's just generally fun and I kind of want to get to know her better, so, uh... sleepovers?"

 

“I’d love to!” Inari practically chirps before throwing an arm around Anakin’s shoulders. “Blanket forts are _so much fun_. I don’t get to make them often enough because my roommate already thinks I’m weird,” she says with an awkward smile. “But! You and Blake are cute! And I miss being in a cuddle puddle.”

 

“A ‘cuddle puddle’? Seriously, sis?” Alex asks with a raised brow. Inari gives them a big pout.

 

“Oh, don’t tread on my fun, sib. Besides, you get to cuddle with Acacia every night, I bet.”

 

“Shut up and eat your fluffy cookies.”

 

“Fluffy cookie?” Izumi perks up. Alexei laughs and shrugs.

 

“Well,” they say, “Couldn’t prevent _that_ from being the phrase of the night.”

 

Their interactions are interesting to watch, Miroslav thinks. Just the way Alexei seems to relax around their sister, and how perky Inari is, considering her situation . . . then again, he thinks, Inari seems to be much more comfortable with her identity than others. And he can’t imagine that Alex would have ever been gender-conforming, especially if they were the older sibling without any parents. It’s an interesting dynamic. And of course, it’s better that they’re taking up the majority of conversation, when all Miroslav wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep.

 

Then again . . . he’s looking at Sylvain. _Not until after_ , he thinks. He averts his eyes and looks back to his food just in time to hear the outcry.

 

“What do you _mean_ you’re not working, Sib?!”

 

Alexei seems to be stammering. “J-Just- I lost my l-last job. I had a fl-flashback at work and got fired-”

 

“And you haven’t looked since? How are you paying rent?!”

 

Alexei seems to wilt in their seat. “Th-The Akiyamas have been very generous,” they mumble. “And . . . w-well, I have some . . . debts, here. Y’know. That I’m slowly trying to repay.”

 

“ _How are you paying for my school_?”

 

“You have a billion scholarships.”

 

“What about _your_ school?”

 

“That money went into the trial.”

 

“You mean that bullshit excuse for a trial?”

 

“Inari-”

 

Acacia stood up, her eyes wide with a hand rested protectively on Alexei's shoulder. She couldn't  help the tenseness of her body, half defensive of her partner at the sheer notion of an argument.

 

Nobody managed to get another word out before Acacia spoke up. "Alexei has been having a rough time. They are just taking a small break to recoup. Don't be too hard on them- it was traumatic."

 

"Besides, Anakin isn't working either," Blake defended. "Alexei's health comes first. We don't mind taking care of either of them, especially after everything that's happened. Alex will get back to it sometime."

 

Acacia looked around, before giving a half nod to Blake, running a hand through her messy blonde hair as she shut her eyes. "Well... I think we should all head to bed soon. It has been a long day." _Longer for all of us than I would have hoped. That letter is not helping anything. Fuck Germany._

* * *

 

 

They really had gone to bed pretty shortly after that - Acacia's severity wasn't pretty, the way she'd tensed up at what seemed like a really simple argument. Miroslav can't necessarily blame her, after all he'd heard...but it was definitely clear that she had an opinion. And she was obviously protective of her switch.

 

Not that Miroslav doesn't understand that, either. Sylvain is protective in his own way, of course - making sure he ate enough, helping him sleep, even comforting him the few times he'd panicked in front of him. Even looking at him now, as he pulls his clothes off except for boxers, he can tell Sylvain is watching him, waiting for him to crawl into bed. It's like he can see the anxiety bunching up at the back of his neck, or twining into his arms.

 

Still. Miroslav sits down at the edge of his bed and looks down, trying to settle his nerves as he thinks of what's under his bed. "You okay?" He asks first. "You were really tense, all through dinner. I get it, I guess, but...it's only for a week, right? You'll be okay?"

 

"I'll be okay," Sylvain murmurs, his voice lighter than usual, barely above a whisper. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down with the pressure of the situation, his eyes blinking away the thoughts and the pains in his head... Sylvain breathes in, shaky as he tries to keep himself still and motionless .

 

His breath still catches when he finds the guts to speak up, a short, "My mom loved kids, actually. She was so good with them... used to teach. Always knew what to say and how to comfort them... I guess it's just a difficulty to try and take care of them now. Makes me miss her even more."

 

He's reaching arms out to hook them around Miroslav's back, gazing into his eyes before offering a quirk of his lips, tugging the man onto the bed beside him. "I love you."

 

Miroslav nearly starts when Sylvain explains. He...hadn't known. Just he way he talked, it was...huh. "I'm sorry," he whispers back. He reaches up and presses a kiss to his neck. "It can't be easy. At least...it'll be over in a week. We could find stuff to do, you know. Between work and stuff. I know a few places we could visit. Or, well..."

 

Miroslav swallows harshly. He finally leans down and pulls out the bag from under the bed. "I...well. It might be a challenge, but we could find ways to try these? I wanted to...um...get you something. I found this shop, and I sort of...thought of you. Yeah," Miroslav turns his head away to hide his blush as he holds the bag out to him. "Maybe it'll help. I know it helps you relax most days, so..."

 

"Thanks," Sylvain says, voice so near a monotone that picking out the inflection seems an impossible task. But he's still reaching out, hefting the bag from his hands to set it on the nightstand without looking in. The expression on Miroslav's face is worried, nearly frantic, and the older man can scarcely offer a smile before adding, "I'll look tomorrow. I need to unwind a bit for now. Thank you, though. It means... a lot." He's reaching forward to ruffle Miroslav's hair, looking away as he bites his lip.

 

It's seconds before Sylvain is pulling away the sheets, letting them fall back over his side as his eyes watch Miroslav patiently, waiting for him to slip under the sheets beside him, press their warm bodies against each other, let him cover his face with light, feathery kisses as Miroslav's hands hold so tightly to him. "Lie down with me. Let's forget about it... just for now. Please, Miroslav... just lie down with me for awhile."

 

It feels like a sharp pain in his chest at first, making his head twist into anxious knots almost immediately - he has to pull himself back for a moment and calm himself down, because Sylvain was upset, and he didn't need any more drama. It was a long day for them both, all things considered...so he just nods and goes, "Okay. Hopefully tomorrow will be better...we'll make plans after work or something. Just spend the day away from the apartment, right?"

 

He's giving him a smile as he's tugged down, and Sylvain is lying down next to him almost immediately, curling arms around him, and that's enough to calm the nerves in his chest.. He's pressing his face against his chest with a sigh and wraps his arms around Sylvain's body, hoping that the shudders are imagined, and not real. Right now things are just muddled up and twisted and confusing, and it's been such a long day for them both, but...it'll be better in the morning. For now he just hides his face in warm skin and hums, hoping to calm the racing of both their hearts.


	5. melancholy

To be fair, it wasn’t hard to guess that Anakin was upset. He barely got anything for breakfast, stayed in his room for most of the morning, and only migrated into the living room when Blake took over the room for some “interesting aerobics” with Alex. Miroslav isn’t sure what’s bothering him this time, but whatever it is, it’s keeping Anakin rather silent, just curled up on the couch without even a blanket over him. At the least, he  _ is _ cradling his phone in his hand, and when Miroslav looks over in passing, he can see an episode of  _ Steven Universe _ playing, the volume quiet enough he can’t even hear what’s going on.

Blake’s busy already, he thinks, and he’s not sure he’d trouble Sylvain or Acacia with this. So, he closes one of his books in mid-study with a sigh, deciding studying for his midterm could wait as he got up and went to talk to Anakin.

It’s just past noon, and Anakin hasn’t moved from the couch. He looks so small; Miroslav tilts his head to one side before finally grabbing a blanket and carefully laying it over Anakin’s frail form. He seems to nearly jump the moment it’s on top of him, though Miroslav just shrugs and sits at his feet, tucking the edge of the blankets under his heels.

“You’re toes are going to fall off if you don’t keep them warm,” he says. Anakin’s eyes seem wide; he wonders, for a moment, if he’s having a hallucination, or a delusion; Miroslav shakes his head and carefully grabs at his toes, rubbing them gently to give him some sense of sensation. “It’s okay, man, everything’s attached. Do you want to talk? There’s only so many times you can watch the same episode of SU without it getting tooth-achingly cute, and you already look like you want to melt regardless.”

The blanket being set across his suddenly too fragile frame only causes Anakin to shiver, curling in on himself further with eyes clenched tightly before focusing on the darkness that seemed to surround the room. Everything was in greyscale, a sort of black and white vibe that covered everything, made his head ache more, body tensing up with the intense need to be sick.

His tattooed hands wrap tightly around his phone, setting the small object down on the table before curling around his own body in some sort of self-hug that's got to look as stupid as it feels. Hell, Anakin would be laughing if he saw someone else do it, honestly. 

It's so hard to get his eyes to flit up to Miroslav, to give some sort of rueful spurt of laughter as he just nods and wipes the tears from his face with shaky fingers and sweaty palms. “Do I? Well, it's probably just because some idiot decided to throw a blanket over me. I mean, j-jesus, Miroslav, I was hot enough already. Not like I needed something to c-cover up that r-radiance.”

The stammering doesn't exactly spell good things in terms of his stability. If anything, Miroslav looks more concerned, and it's all Anakin can do not to just flat out burst into tears in front of him. All he can think is  _ get over yourself, you fucking whiny bitch. Nobody gives a shit. Everyone would be better without your fat, useless ass always annoying them. _

The rational part of him is saying  _ Miroslav cares. Blake cares. Alexei cares. And you're just depressed. _

It's so hard to listen to the rational side.

“You’re more radiant when you’re happy, and from the looks of it, you seem pretty down. Anything I can do?” Miroslav asks. Anakin doesn’t respond; Miroslav shrugs and grabs his feet again, pressing his thumbs against his toes. “It’s okay, you know, if you want to talk about it. This shit isn’t easy. I mean, half of us here are ill and the other half are trying to keep the rest together. And we gotta look out for each other, right?” he pauses. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, Anakin. Believe me. I have a midterm to study for.”

He’s joking, at least, but Anakin just seems to curl in on himself more. He looks . . . yeah, really depressed. His eyes are wet, too, like he’s trying not to cry. And that hurts worst of all, but at least he was letting some of it go, right? Miroslav looks at the phone he’d set down and picks it up again, looking at what he was watching. “Oh, yeah . . . you’re watching the end of season one, right? Honestly, my favorite part was when Ruby and Sapphire reunited on the ship and reformed Garnet. I swear, they have one of the best pairings of all time. They’re just adorable.”

A gasp of air. He thinks it almost sounds like a laugh, so he tickles his foot with his free hand again and continues. “So what do you think? Out of the two of us, who is Ruby and who is Sapphire?” Miroslav looks at him with a smile. “I feel like you should be Sapphire. I’m the more angsty aggressive one, like Ruby. You’re cute, like Sapphire, and you hide more than you should. Sometimes you freeze up when you don’t have to,” he says weakly. He puts down the phone again and sighs, rubbing his feet again before placing quick little pecks to the tops of his ankles.

“Talk to me man, okay? I’m trying to cheer you up and if anybody walks in, they’re just going to think I have some weird fetish, y’know?”

_ You hide more than you should.  _ It's all Anakin can think, what he chooses to mull over and hold onto, because he doesn't think Miroslav’s the aggressive one… angsty, yeah, but he wasn't ever… aggressive with him.  _ And all I do is piss people off and make them pity me. What a fucking gift.  _ He's allowing a half pressured scoff to sound from his throat, trying to shake his head  _ no, no, you're the nice one, you're smart and cute and shit  _ but he can't. 

“D-do you have a fetish?” Anakin asks a an attempt to push through the conversation, like humor is going to fix whatever this situation is. “Because I'm not sure a normal person would be so attracted to my feet.” It's a bad attempt at a joke, but Miroslav’s giving a soft little smile, and Anakin is just pushing his feet closer to Miroslav because it actually feels really good and  _ I love being touched, don't judge me. _

“I love Garnet,” there's a pause. “Kind of a natural born leader. But the fact that there are the two completely different sides to her- the Sapphire side and the Ruby side- is why she does such a good job of it. You can't be so strong without some sort of inner turmoil. I think you're more like Sapphire though. I'm not cute. I'm just… me. Nobody likes me for that, unless they're as crazy as I am.”

“So everybody here is crazy?” Miroslav asks. Anakin stays silent at that; Miroslav shrugs and shifts; at this point, he might as well just put Anakin’s feet in his lap, if he’s at least liking it as much as he is. Besides, he does seem to be pushing closer, relaxing just a little, and even if it’s a little gross, Miroslav isn’t sure he minds. He just presses little kisses against the tops of his feet and smiles.

“We care about you, you know. All of us do. I know things are rough, and that sometimes you feel like nobody cares, but we do. I know I do. It sucks to see you unhappy. I’ve never been good at the comforting bit,” he pauses. Presses his thumb into the arches of his feet, just for Anakin to shiver and whine a little. He smiles almost sadly. “My brother has anger management issues, along with depression, but I’ve never really been able to help him. Only got worse when his leg was messed up. And then the anxiety kicked in and, well, it took me a while to figure out how to ever make anything okay for people.”

He finally sighs and looks back up at the clock. Still afternoon - still early, he guesses. He leans down and presses one last kiss to each foot before standing up and pulling the blanket off Anakin’s form. “Okay, you know what? Let’s go someplace. Let’s go to the mall or something, get some drinks or sweets. You know the one nearby? On 15th? Let’s go there. I owe Acacia some cinnamon tea anyway, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting her paddle my ass again. She does  _ not _ bother with warming up.”

“You wanna go to the mall with me?” The ginger isn't sure he isn't blushing, almost convinced he's redder than usual, hands sweaty as they tug at his messy hair, biting his lip and tugging on it roughly with his teeth. He's hot and sweaty and completely flustered, feels like he's going to break down into a babbling, whining mess at any second. Anakin’s hiding his face in his arms, tearing his eyes away from Miroslav before he just nods.

He wishes so desperately that he could force the smile back onto his face, just jump up and hug Miroslav and say  _ thank you thank you thank you!  _ because he deserves to be thanked, should have better company than Anakin, who's a fucking mess on a good day and a psychotic freak on a bad. But all he can seem to do is give another nod, half crawling across the couch to hug Miroslav tightly and press his head against his neck and give him a purring hum of satisfaction. 

“Thank you, Miro. I… you make me happy.”

“It’s no problem,” is all he can say with a chuckle as he rubs Anakin’s back. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I think it’d be fun. And you look like you could use a pick me up, so we might as well. Plus, uh, it helps with procrastinating, too,” he admits with a chuckle. He finally pulls back and points to the hallway. “Lemme just get my shoes on and we can go. I know a place we can get drinks. And don’t worry - I’ll resist the urge to tie myself up again, unless you want to see me squirm like an idiot.”

* * *

 

 

The cafe is tucked away in the corner of the food court, so he nearly misses it until Anakin’s tugging at his shirt sleeve and pointing. He’s not surprised he missed it when he sees the dark lighting inside too; he’s heard it’s a good place, but then again, he’s no expert. It’s his first time taking a peek inside, so he’s letting Anakin hold his hand as they go in, just to keep him calm.

There’s only two people in there, surprisingly - a janitor, with head shaved and tackling some spot on the floor with a mop, and the clerk - a clerk he rather  _ recognizes _ . They seem to perk up from their slouch on the counter when they see him, and they smirk. It’s hard to see with their hair half-covering one eye, but he can only guess they’re  _ winking _ .

“What? Haven’t you seen a person with two jobs before?” they ask. Miroslav rolls his eyes, and they just return with a chuckle. “Okay okay, whatever. I’m a dork. Nice to see you again, Knots M’Gee.”

“It’s Miroslav,” he says back. He hopes his voice sounds as dry to them as it does to him. “And this is Anakin, by the way-”

“Yeah, I know Anakin! We’ve been catching chick flicks together. Also Deadpool,” they say as they start pressing buttons into their clerk’s screen. “So what can I get for you two? And keep it simple, please, because this machine’s already complicated enough. If I get that Machiatto bullshit again I’m gonna flip my shit on somebody.”

“Yeah, um… h-hey,” Anakin breathes,  a blush heavy on his cheeks as his eyes wander over the clerk’s form, the smile on their face that is somewhat exasperated, and it's all too much to focus on. He's turning his head so his eyes fall on the tile of the floor, fiddling with the pockets of his black, skull-patterned hoodie, trying to hide his eyes on the off chance the clerk sees him crying too.

Miroslav seems half in shock, mainly from the notion that he’s been seeing movies with them- not that it was really surprising to Anakin, though he would've figured the shock was from the simple thought of  _ Anakin has a friend? _ The redhead tries to shake the thought away, looking up just enough to smile to the clerk as he says, “Hey, J.” And then he's wrapping his hands around Miroslav’s arm and clinging tightly to his side.

Miroslav seems a little surprised, but not unnerved, rubbing one of the tense hands grasping his shirt gently, as if trying to soothe Anakin. He doesn't really care- the human contact was enough, the fact Miroslav was letting him cling to him without getting upset or frustrated with him… it was nice. So the younger man just holds onto him tighter as he looks over the menu.

“Um… c-can I get a Chai tea with Boba?” Anakin finally murmurs, managing to give a tiny smile at the clerk as he said so. The janitor is slipping behind the counter, spraying down the floor with a chuckle and something about “I now know why you say smelling coffee everyday is awful.” He looks up to them with a smile and a wave, before getting back to work.

Anakin just looks to Miroslav to see an expression of amusement greeting him, before he finally says, “Have you tried Boba tea? It is literally amazing, oh my fucking god. Also, they have amazing coffee cake here. Just… everything. So fucking good.”

“I haven’t,” Miroslav can only say. “I don’t drink much tea. I’m sort of a coffee guy.”

“So’s Yorno, but I don’t judge. Loudly, I mean,” the clerk says. And then they’re ducking under the mop handle being swung at them, and they just turn and grin as the janitor smirks back and goes back to cleaning the floor. The clerk - JB, judging by the name tag - presses in the order before looking back to Miroslav. “Coffee then?”

“I’m feeling more of a smoothie, I guess. Pineapple-orange?”

“I can get that for you,” they say as they punch it in. “Anything else?”

“Uh . . .” Miroslav looks over at the glass display case. There isn’t a ton there that he’s sure he’s interested in - not even very hungry, really - but he finally shrugs and settles on a, “Only if Anakin wants something. I can pay for it with my debit.”

“I’ll just ring up the usual, then,” JB says with a wink to Anakin - they seem to be smiling a little at the way he’s clinging to him. Miroslav smiles and rubs at his wrist with his fingers. JB just goes, “Aww,” before asking, “You two a couple?”

“Nah, just really good friends,” Miroslav says with a shrug. “I mean, we’ve nearly fucked before-”

“Oh, I heard  _ all about that _ .”

“-but mostly it’s just cuddling.”

JB lifts a brow. “So you’re platonic cuddlers? Or a zucchini?”

“I don’t even know why we’d be a vegetable, but sure.”

“Oh, Knots M’Gee,” JB says with a smile and a shake of the head. “Do you need to get more involved in the queer community. Somebody get Aladdin so I can show you a Whole New World.”

There's a rather promising snort of laughter from Anakin, easing up his grip on Miroslav’s arm just enough to look at JB better, giving them a mirthful smile. “It’s okay. We're teaching him very well.” 

“I bet you are,” the janitor says. “I mean, you're as queer as they come- well, aside from us, of course.”

“Nah, man. I'm just fabulous,” Anakin responds, shooting a wink at the bald man, watching him adjust his glasses slightly as he shook his head, a sigh of the  _ what am I going to do with you  _ variety parting from him.

“You're something else, that's what you are.”

The clerk's reaching over the counter to set the drinks down, along with a receipt. They're giving Miroslav a wink, and the look on the raven haired man’s face is too amusing to ignore completely. Anakin’s leaning over, poking his cheek with a tiny “ _ boop!” _ as Miroslav reaches forward for his smoothie.

“By the way,” he says, “he's zucchini to me… not sure about me to him. Y’know, it comes and goes, though. I just don't know if I'd be here without him and Blake.”

“Hey, don’t say that. Things always get better. Trust us,” JB says as they reach over the counter to give him a hug. “Just think of Deadpool and that’s it: your reason to live. Just become the next Deadpool. Or become the next weirdo to obsessively collect every bit of trivia and merchandise on him.”

Miroslav raises a brow. “People actually do that?”

“Wow, you are  _ really _ behind on the times. Stucky for the win,” they say with a pointed look to him. “Anyways. Zucchinis. Sex-less, romance-less relationships that are still incredibly meaningful on a platonic level. Or at least that’s what I read on the internet.”

“Oh, no, I think Anakin makes up for the romance part,” Miroslav teases as he looks at Anakin with a wink. The other just gives him a blank stare, and given the audience, Miroslav can’t help it - he leans forward and kisses his cheek. He hears a nearly ear-piercing squeal.

“ _ Oh my god somebody get me my fucking camera _ ,” JB’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates as they grab the janitor’s - Yorno’s - arm. “Bunbun, please, get me my phone. That was adorable. I might just faint. Or . . . well maybe that’s the lack of spoons right now. I don’t know.”

“Don't make  _ too  _ big of a fuss,” Yorno says with a wink. “They still come second to Stucky.” Still, it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to pull a tiny phone out of his pocket, flipping it to JB quickly with a laugh. “Seriously though. You're cute, guys. I ship it.”

Anakin is convinced he's  _ bright fucking red-  _ maybe even alizarin because his head is so light, laughter so close to bubbling up from his chest as he gives an almost purr and pushes his face against Miroslav’s shoulder, eyes tightly shut to try and keep himself from giving anymore away.

“Love you, Miro,” he murmurs softly. “You're my best friend, you know… next to Blake. I can go grab some seats if you want. And then we need to drop by Hot Topic and get some pop dolls so I can expand my collection. Ooh, can we get something cute for Izu too? Burlington is having a sale on kids clothes!” he’s pulling away, almost excitedly rambling. “And whatever you want too.”

“As long as we don’t forget the tea, I’m down for anything,” Miroslav says with a laugh. “Like I said, I just don’t want Acacia to spank me again. She’s rough as all hell.”

“ _ Damn _ ,” JB seems to be staring at him wide-eyed. “You guys get around, huh?”

“You seem awfully interested in our sex lives,” Miroslav cuts back. JB shrugs and rests their chin in their hands.

“Let’s just say I have an . . . intellectual investment. Anyways! Enjoy your drinks; I’m going to be in my bunker,” they finish with a wink before skipping out of the room. Yorno seems to roll his eyes at them before going back to work; Miroslav’s grabbing their drinks and sitting down with Anakin, taking a quick slurp of his smoothie just for the hell of it.  _ S’not bad _ , he thinks.  _ A little too sweet, but I’ll take it _ .

“So Hot Topic, Burlington, the tea place . . . any interest in finding some mugs with me?” Miroslav gives him an apologetic smile. “Alexei broke a bunch of them the other day on accident. I offered to replace them after they calmed down; seems to me they weren’t up for the trip after all of that.”

“I don't blame them,” Anakin breathes softly and pulls his arms closer to himself, shaking his head. “They… they've been through a lot lately, huh? Really just… fuck, they need a goddamn break. We all need a goddamn break… it's been too much this week.”

He’s picking at a scab on his arm with long fingernails, trying to ignore the way Miroslav stares at him, eyes almost confused but still nodding in agreement. The redhead has to tug himself away, hide his eyes to cover up his emotions, even though he's half tempted to just say…

“There's a video that I ended up seeing again...s-someone thought it'd be funny to mention it again, I think. But just generally, mood is total shit. I feel so tired… so worthless and unwanted… I just want to stop feeling like this. Empty and aching… it would help if I could let go of the past.”

“I know the feeling, man. Honestly, letting go of the past is fucking hard. I’m still trying to let go of bits of mine,” he says softly. He can tell Anakin is trying to pick at himself again, at old scars; he reaches over and just takes his hands in his, rubbing over the soft pulse in his wrists. “We should get some foundation for you, too,” he says quietly. “That way we can stop stealing Acacia’s and barely getting away with it. Blake caught me last time, but I don’t think he told. And anyways, Acacia’s a little too pale, right? We could get you a warmer tone.”

He lets go of his hands with a sad sort of smile. He grabs his smoothie again and goes to idly stirring it, just to give his hands something to do. Miroslav feels like he should be pulling him into a hug again, offering him at least a moment of peace, but they’re in public, and . . . well, he’d never gotten into the habit of being openly queer in public. He’s not sure even his mom knows he’s queer; she was tied up enough when Chase came out of the closet.  _ That all depends on her even noticing me in the first place _ , he thinks, followed by a thought of  _ ah, yes. When will senpai notice me _ that makes him almost roll his eyes.

Still, the thought reminds him. He looks back up to Anakin curiously. “It wasn’t one of the ones I sent you, right?” he asks. “I mean, I thought the game looked cool. Playing as a yandere, I mean. Sorry, Kokona’s backstory is really iffy right now and I don’t know if the Dev’ is going to change it or not, so right now it’s sort of trigger-y-”

“Oh, no, sorry!” the response is almost immediate as Anakin shakes his head with a sad attempt at a smile playing on his lips. It evens out a few seconds later though, followed by a, “To be honest, the experience seems pretty accurate. I mean, I've seen enough Yandere simulator to reaffirm my realization that Yuno Gasai is not just a single individual. There's this girl I know, actually- one of Blake's friends, Julianna?  _ Total  _ yandere.” 

He's giving a giggle and shaking his head as he looks down his body, fingers finding the tears in his tattered jeans so he could run fingers over the tattooed skin that was just barely visible. Pulling in a sharp breath, he just sighs and looks away, murmuring, “Um...yeah. anyway. It was another video… one I don't think you've seen and I can't show you. Sorry for the mention, anyway. It's just been weighing on me a bit lately.”

He's taking another swig of tea, chewing the Boba softly as his gaze finds Miroslav’s face and the concerned look he has. He barely has the time to breathe out harshly, “Seriously. Fucking perfect, kay?” A moan of dismay. “Okay. Also,can we go to the pet store? I saw this adorable kitten the other day and you've gotta see it, man. So damn cute.”

“. . . I . . . sure, but . . . you don’t sound so perfect,” Miroslav says as he reaches forward and takes his hands again. He looks down; the lines on his hands are so vibrant, he can’t help but trace them with the tip of his thumb. “For real, though. Do you want to talk about it? You really look upset, and if it’s been bothering you like this, then . . . well, I don’t know. Jesus, I’m bad at this,” he sighs. “Still, though. If there’s something I can do, let me know. You shouldn’t have to deal with fucking triggers like that if you don’t have to. Who sent you the video anyway? Jesus . . .”

He shrugs and keeps tracing his palm lines. Anakin still looks pretty stressed on the outside - dark circles under his eyes, crow’s feet at the corners, lips bitten so red he’s surprised they’re not just scarred. He’s picked at his nails, too; they’re chipped, and when he flips them over to get a closer look, he can spot the half-ruined polish on them too . . . what used to be a french manicure, he thinks. He’s not sure - somebody like Acacia would know, he thinks. He’s not so good at this sort of thing.

“So . . . Hot Topic, pet store, Burlington, tea shop,  _ and _ someplace where we can fix up your nails. I bet we could get them evened out. Plus, if it’s some place like JCPenny’s or whatever, then we can get foundation there too, so that’s two birds with one stone,” he tilts his head to one side as he looks his nails over. “Actually, I didn’t know you got your nails done. It’s a good look. Is it weird that I could see you doing nail art? My sister, Yulia, she used to do it all the time when she was younger. Looked like shit back then, but now her social media is flooded with all this professional-looking work. Maybe whenever she visits next - I think we were going to spend Christmas together - she could take a stab at yours.”

“Oh, yeah… I kinda fucked them up again.” Anakim is turning his hand over, examining the now torn up nails, perfect manicure and shine having been deteriorated too much for it to even look halfway nice anymore. He's letting teeth sink into his lip, only deterred when Miroslav taps him again and he's forced to look up.

There's a moment of reprise, where he just focuses on the blue of Miroslav’s eyes and the pallor of his skin and the concerned nature of his body, a moment where Anakin is just stuck between speaking and thinking, calming himself down as he nods quickly, then again, tries to clear his throat and force out the words. “I know it's kind of girly, but… I really like makeup and stuff. I… well, after I was told I couldn't be a stay at home mom, I thought… maybe a beautician? Finally settled on literature as a major in college… ended up in retail anyway. The shit that happens, right man?”

Shrugging the skull jacket off of his pale shoulders, Anakin tries to cover up the lanky, awkward feeling he normally has without a jacket, fingers playing with his short hair as he watches Miroslav’s fingers toy with a silver ring in his brow. “Fuck, we must look  _ so  _ awkward.” he’s reaching out to grab Miroslav’s hand, watching him with nervous eyes. “But… about doing anything for me… shit, I mean, don't try too hard? I just… i-if you know someone who could get a video removed from everywhere it's ever been posted… I'd appreciate it. It's… it's  _ personally harmful.” _

_ Oh _ .  _ That _ kind of video. Miroslav gets the feeling he knows what it’s about already. He gives a sympathetic wince. “Fucking hell. Do I even want to guess? Jesus . . . although,” he says after a moment of thought, “I  _ might _ know somebody . . .” he’s silent for a moment, thinking it over, before he finally figures  _ fuck it _ and reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“So my brother - y’know, the one who ended up getting his leg messed up? - he came out as gay last year to my family. My mom wasn’t amused, but still, Chase did introduce us to his boyfriend. Actually, I think his boyfriend might even  _ live _ here; his name is Darien. I don’t know all of the details, but apparently he’s a pretty decent hacker. Let me just text my brother and see if I can get some info.”

He’s looking down at his phone and scrolling down his recent contact list - scrolling for almost too long. Miroslav’s quick to grab the conversation with Chase and type a fast message, a quick  _ you got a moment to talk? _

Of course, the reply comes a minute later.

_ What do you need from me  _ this _ time? _

Miroslav rolls his eyes. “Chase thinks I’m always asking for stuff from him. He’s an ass sometimes,” he finally says as he hits the call button and puts the phone to his ear. “Gimme a sec, I think he’s going to pick up so- oh. Hey, Chase.”

“ _ You’re horribly predictable you know _ ,” Chase growls at him from over the line. “ _ Also, good timing. I was just about to work on a major scene for the next book _ .”

“Sorry, man, duty calls. Hey, so my-” he stops. Looks Anakin over. Then, finally says, “-zucchini. I think that’s what it’s called? Anyway, he’s a really close friend. He needs some hacker help and I was wondering if you had Darien’s number.”

“ _ Of course I have my boyfriend’s number. Why do you need it? _ ”

“I just said - hacking.”

“ _ What kind of hacking? Bro, don’t go doing any illegal shit like I did _ .”

“It’s not illegal! Just-” he stops and gives Anakin a nervous look. “I, uh - shouldn’t assume. But it sounds like it’s really personal?”

“ _ What, like some kind of revenge porn? _ ”

Miroslav winces as Anakin’s eyes go wide. He reaches forward and grabs his wrist, just to try and calm him down. “Well . . . maybe,” he says. “I don’t know. He said it’s ‘personally harmful’, so I’m taking him at his words.”

“ _ Aren’t you the trustful one _ .”

“Chase, stop being an asshole. I think he can hear you and he looks like he’s ready to cry,” he gives Anakin a soft look as he rubs his fingers. “Sorry, man. Chase can be a little insensitive at times. Comes with the anger management thing.”

“Well… I’m basically the definition of abrasive when you first meet me,” Anakin attempts to say lightly, offering a slight look of… he can't even tell what face he's probably making… to Miroslav, along with what he hopes is a reassuring touch to his hand. “I… you know. Get it.”

He can feel the sweat building at the nape of his neck, lining his brow just beneath the shadow of red hair, shaking locks away from his face as he attempts to ignore whatever words Miroslav and Chase are muttering to each other.

_ Maybe abrasive would work? _

Before he can think anything else of it, he's gesturing for the phone and Miroslav’s handing it to him quickly, eyes wide.

“Hey, asshole. It's a rape video. Take it the fuck down. Thanks.” he’s tossing it back to the dark haired man quickly and shrugging. “Wanted to get the point across.”

. . . it’s probably a really good thing that Miroslav doesn’t know what to say, because if he tried to speak, he thinks it’s just come out in one slosh of word vomit. Fucking  _ hell _ , Anakin too?! Worse enough that he’d been assaulted, but with- holy  _ fuck _ . He thinks he might be sick. Why, fucking  _ why _ did two of his friends have to suffer through that shit? He swallows harshly as words finally tumble out of his mouth:

“Jesus. When the fuck did the US of A make rape legal. Because it doesn’t sound like they care about it much.”

“ _ Whoa _ ,” Chase is going, for once sounding flabbergasted enough to break through his shield of rage. “ _ That was your friend? Fucking hell. _ ”

“I . . . y-yeah,” he swallows and looks back down at his drink. Suddenly, he’s not sure he’s hungry. He pushes it away for the moment. “Just- can you send me Darien’s number? Or else we can make a date. Just- fuck. Please, bro.”

“ _ Yeah, don’t even worry about it now, I fucking get it. He gets lots of requests like that. He’ll take it down, and I bet he can even track the source and get rid of it at the roots, too _ ,” he says. “ _ Tell your friend I’m sorry, okay? Sounds like a piece of hell _ .”

Miroslav sighs. “Yeah, you have no idea. If you think this is bad, one of my other roommates was raped two years ago and had a  _ kid _ as a result.”

“ _ Fucking hell, man _ .”

“Yeah. At least the kid’s cute, but they’re not back in school, and they can’t work. They only got a restraining order out of the deal.”

“ _ Goddamn. I should really go to law school like I’d planned. I’m not letting that shit happen to you or Yulia. Fuck that shit. _ ”

“Uh . . . bro?” Miroslav raises a brow. “You’re cussing a  _ lot _ . Which series are you working on again?”

“ _ The new one. The Breaking-Bad-meets-Bullshit one _ .”

Miroslav lets his face meet his hand. “ _ Ah _ . No wonder the cursing volume’s come up. Take care of yourself bro . . . we’ll get in touch with Darien later, okay?”

“ _ No prob. Oh, and call Mom if you can - apparently she has something to talk to you about _ .”

Miroslav sighs. “She finally found the notes?” he pauses. “Actually, did she find my meds and decided she gave a fuck?”

“ _ Nah, found the meds a long time ago. Never managed to ship them out. But yeah, next time you’re signing a contract, keep the copies with you. She knows. _ ”

He leans his head back and  _ groans _ . “God  _ dammit _ . Fine. Thanks man. I’ll talk to you later,” he hangs up and looks back at Anakin before tossing his phone on the table. “Now we wait. Darien works late hours, aka through the night, so we should probably hear from him soon. In other news, my mom found my paperwork and she probably now knows all of the fuckin’ medical details, if not where I live. Whee.”

“Fuck your mom, man,” Anakin manages to say, eyes flickering between the phone and Miroslav’s face, his hand reaching out to cover Miroslav’s, pull it closer to himself and run ink-stained fingers across pale ones, shaking his head again. “I can _ 't believe  _ she never managed to send you your meds. That's not something you need… you need… Sylvain, Blake, Alex… people who care about you and your health and your wellbeing…”

The redhead is letting his other hand take hold of Miroslav’s empty one, blinking at him softly and trying to suppress a shudder at the thoughts that are so plainly running around between them. “Me too… I want… I want to make you happy, not keep wearing you out. Wanna hold you if you go through rough shit. You get me? I just… we're bros, man. I care.” A deep breath. “I want to take care of you when you need it like you take care of me.”

Miroslav gives him a soft, almost strained smile. “I get that. And I appreciate it. This isn’t . . . s’not a big deal, though. My mom hasn’t been very communicate-y the last few years, especially after . . . well, I don’t want to talk about it,” he says as he looks away, breaking eye contact.  _ Jesus _ , this was bizarre. “Anyways . . . after what happened, and then with the following divorce, things between my mom and I got strained. And it doesn’t help that her job is very . . .  _ private _ . . . so really, we don’t talk much in the first place. And I’ve told you before, right? Her priority was Chase, after he got shot. Getting him back on track was her main priority. Even when I was drowning in my mental health issues, she didn’t really notice. Was more worried paying for amputation and a prosthetic leg, y’know?”

He’s talking too much. He’s talking too much, and Anakin’s gotta be looking at him, and just having talked to his brother is bringing up every little insecurity Miroslav had been so good at hiding away for the last little while. It takes him a long time to brush it away . . . too long. He’s pulling in a breath and pulling his smoothie back as he tries to ignore the phantom pain he feels radiating from his hips.

“Please don't be sad,” is all Anakin manages to get out, and it feels so completely ignorant, the most childish thing he could possibly say when it finally slips free from his throat. He's so tense already, and Miroslav is only more so, trembling even when he doesn't seem to notice it, trying so desperately to focus on something obscure rather than on himself or even Ana- it's disheartening. 

And then he's standing up and walking around to Miroslav’s side, pulling him closer and sitting in the chair directly beside him, so he can wrap arms around him in some awkward sort of hug and just cling to his side. He almost thinks that it's become second nature for him to cling to Miroslav like this… fuck, he wants him to just be alright… and all he ever does is make things worse and Miroslav just needs  _ something good.  _ “Can I just hold you? Make the shaking stop? I… don't want you to feel bad.”

He thinks his entire body’s tensing up the moment Anakin touches him, the moment his arms fall around his shoulders. It’s sudden enough that Miroslav thinks he’s stopped breathing, even, clogged up in his throat with sudden tears he hadn’t anticipated . . . he’s gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly, as if that could make the tears go away. His mind’s catching on the same things,  _ the divorce _ and  _ the incident _ and  _ the divorce _ and  _ my little happy fuck-up _ , and he can’t get it out of the loop, not so suddenly, the anxiety rising from his back into his neck-

“I . . .” is all he can press out. He tilts his head forward and hides it in Anakin’s shoulder. He doesn’t move besides that, can’t even lift his arms. He’s just pressing out a sigh, same as the tears are pressing out of his eyes. “I’m . . . fine,” he says. He only barely remembers to force out a “Thank you, Anakin,” before he has to stop. He thinks if he says more, the tears will just spill over and he won’t be able to hide them.

But this was for  _ Anakin _ . To help Anakin - not him. He could . . . could break down later. Ask for Anakin’s help later. For now, he needs to focus on the other. So he pulls in a breath and pulls back, and gives a shaky nod as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pill bottle, playing with the lid between his fingers before finally flipping it open. “S’fine,” he says as he tips one of his lorazepam into his palm, and before forcing himself to tip it into his mouth and swallow. He looks back at him with a gasp. “J-Just fine. I’m okay now. We should- errands, right? We should go.” When Anakin looks like he wants to speak, Miroslav just shakes his head. “It’s okay. Later. I’ll . . . explain later. S’just hard to talk about. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Anakin finally says, startled and nervous as he looks down at Miroslav, one hand still around his shoulders, still holding them together tightly as though it could somehow help some of his own internal stress, the tumultuous feelings brewing underneath his skin… he's sighing, moving back as Miroslav stands up, trying not to just say  _ I'm worried about you please tell me you're okay for fuck’s sake Miro- _

No. Anakin just sighs and nods and leans in to kiss Miroslav on the cheek cutely, gently enough that it almost doesn't seem to be real. He's pulling away and grabbing for his jacket, so self-conscious all of a sudden that he can hardly stand it. But he just nods anyway, and turns away with a soft “Alright!” that's supposed to sound cheery or determined or some bullshit like that. “Where to first?”

“Well, probably to Hot Topic . . . I mean, it’s right next door,” he says, only to laugh when Anakin turns red, obviously unaware that they could see it from the coffeehouse’s entrance. Miroslav shrugs and throws an arm over his shoulder. “Alright, alright, let’s go. One step at a time, right? Maybe we’ll even be able to get back before dinner.”

For as little as he says, he can still feel it - the rolling waves under his skin, like electricity, bowling him over from the intensity. It’s all the memories that cropped up, trying to choke him, make his eyes hurt and his mouth dry. He . . . can’t remember when the last time he called his brother just for the sake of it was. It was always a favor, or to check on home. And he didn’t call his mom anymore; wasn’t worth the time. Nevermind that his sister was studying, and he’d lost contact with his dad as soon as the divorce happened . . .

He has to be alright. Miroslav knows that, because Anakin is the unstable one at the moment, and he has to keep him okay.  _ You should see a therapist _ , a part of his mind echoes, but he shoves it aside. This . . . this was more important. Right here, taking care of Anakin, trying to fix mistakes and support his friend. He could worry about the fucking trainwreck of his family later. For now, the present is what matters.

He still can't figure out if he should buy the jacket or not. Partly because it's lace patterned, and obviously very feminine, but mostly because it's so goddammit form fitted it almost makes Anakin feel insecure with his body again. Which isn't exactly the first time… hell, he'd spent enough years as ‘that chubby kid’ before the growth spurt finally kicked in. Although, admittedly, it  _ does  _ look good on him- he's always been great at pulling off the whole Gothic punk-rocker look.

The redhead is glancing down to the unworn pair of Star Wars sweats and the Black Matter tank covered almost entirely by the alien logo, giving another glance to the jacket. It was almost too similar to the mesh one he already had-  _ probably  _ not worth it. Although his eyes had been caught on a dress for a good number of minutes and he just hadn't been able to step past the embarrassment and ask Miroslav if he thought it'd look good on him.

He's positive there's a heavy blush shading his cheeks, and the fact that he's half out of it isn't helping anything. He'd brought enough money that he could save some face, at least, but… fuck. It's so difficult to explain his thoughts to people… Anakin is half convinced everyone thinks he might be trans anyway. Which he isn't, he doesn't think- maybe gender fluid like Alex is, though he likes being male for what it's worth and…  _ just ask him. _

“Do you think Blake would appreciate it if I wore a dress for him? Like, do you think I'd be pretty or what the fuck ever?”

It takes Miroslav a moment to register the words - he’s distracted, almost, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and staring down at the floor. His head’s still trying to run a mile a minute, a background struggle - but the antianxiety meds did their work, albeit too well. His head’s slowing down, and he’s not sure he can hardly think past it. When he finally hears Anakin speak, it even takes a moment to register what he said.

“Huh?” he looks up at him and tries to blink off the sluggishness of his head. Anakin’s pointing at the ladies’ section . . . aka, the one with the dresses. He looks over and nods. “Yeah . . . yeah, you could try one? I don’t know much about dresses, but hey, it’s worth a shot. I’m mostly thinking about sweaters, though. I’m not particularly boisterous about my fashion choices; none of my family is.”

_ Am I sounding obsessive now? _ He wonders. He shakes his head. Blinks it off again. “You should try one,” he forces out again. “I think . . . think you’d look good. Think you could pull off a skirt.”

“I definitely have the legs for it,” Anakin joked, a snort escaping him as he looked back to Miroslav, noticing the dazed look on his face, the way he kept tugging on his sleeves with an anxiety that seemed to all but envelop him. It's worrisome, and as much as he wishes Miroslav would just talk to him, he doesn't seem to want to say anything. Although the nervousness is obviously in regards to his family- Anakin wishes he knew what to say to cheer him up.

“My family always wore super grungy clothes growing up,” Anakin murmurs, standing on his toes to pull the hanger off from the top shelf. Fuck being 5’10, he still felt goddamn  short. “Detroit, you know? I dunno. Never really cared too much. I got in trouble for experimenting though. A lot. I was involved with some gang stuff for awhile? Kinda got kicked out for that. Well, and a few other things… not that it really matters.”

He shrugs, holding the white and black patterned dress up to his body, fiddling with the lace-up sides along the ribcage. “Honestly, I've always liked wearing women's clothing when I think it looks good on me. Well, to be fair, I like wearing  _ anything  _ that looks good on me. And I wonder why people ask me if I'm trans,” he gives a short laugh. “I don't give a fuck anymore. It's nice, right?”

“Yeah . . . it is,” Miroslav gives a nod. He’s not lying - it is a cute dress, especially with the lace. Just looking it over, and then over Anakin, makes him think that it’d be a good match. “And it flares out at the hips, too,” he points out, “So that’ll look super cute. Do you want to try it on? I was just going to try looking for a sweater or two.”

Anakin nods and wanders off, and Miroslav carefully notes that he’s headed for the unisex changing rooms . . . not the men’s or women’s. He nods to himself, and looks around. It’s not a big store that they’d stopped in (Anakin had gotten distracted by a jacket or something and dragged him in), but even still, he’s not  _ entirely _ sure where the men’s section is again. They’d just sort of walked to the women’s section automatically. He’s not even sure Anakin noticed.

_ Gender _ , he thinks.  _ Because fuck society, he wants to wear a skirt _ . He doesn’t mean to think it sarcastic, but even still, he never would’ve thought about this stuff back home . . . back in conservative PA. He sighs. Miroslav looks around again. He’s stuck by the dress wall, though he does notice a little set of hangers with trinkets and stuff lined up. Past that, he thinks he can see the men’s section.

. . . still. He stops for a moment and looks it over. Most of it’s pink and girly, sort of, but there is some black in it, and . . . Miroslav can’t help but stare. It’s not a place like Hot Topic, he  _ knows _ that, but . . . his eyes can’t help but wander. Wanders over dark jersey, a shot of leather, even a little pink-

Miroslav shakes his head.  _ Don’t be stupid _ , he thinks.

. . . still, it wouldn’t hurt to . . .

* * *

 

“Oh my fucking  _ god,”  _ Anakin is breathing, completely shocked as he watches Miroslav stuffing the thigh highs and collar back into the bag in sheer shock. He doesn't seem to be able to make sense of it himself, bright red cheeks and breathing so aroused it's impossible to ignore. And Anakin’s just nodding and giving one of those embarrassing little smirks as he nudges him, leaning in close. “I  _ cannot believe  _ you actually bought those.”

He doesn't miss the way the raven ducks his head and turns away in embarrassment, holding the bag closer to his chest as if defensive. But Anakin is just smiling and reaching for his hand and dragging him along to the little hallway leading to the restrooms with a smile. “But I guess it makes me want to give you a present.” And he's pulling a plaid red, pleated skirt out and tossing it at him. “Would look  _ so fucking great with those thigh highs. _ Besides, it's not like I didn't want to change clothes now either.” He's nudging Miroslav with an elbow. “ _ Wear a skirt with me.  _ Or well, technically mines a dress… but still. We'll be so fucking cute. Me more than you, but still. Come on, Miroslav, you're killing me here.”

“I’m killing  _ you _ ?” Miroslav asks. He’s probably red in the goddamn face - he can’t stop blushing, not after looking at himself in those socks, with his neck collared and his hands trapped in soft pink cuffs he was sure were meant to be just two connected bracelets . . . and he can’t get the image out of his head. Not that Anakin is doing better at that, it seems, because Anakin’s half-breathless with his teasing, at least until he’s tossing the skirt at him.  _ Jesus _ , and red plaid, too? He’s going to look like he’s wearing a kilt, though he’s not sure a Scotsman would be wearing a knit sweater either.

It wouldn’t even be so bad if he wasn’t aroused, but- he fucking  _ is _ . Jesus, at least the men’s bathroom is empty by the time they get in there, and at least Anakin is grabbing a stall without looking back at him, but . . . oh,  _ lord _ . Miroslav shuts himself into a stall and hangs up his bag on the back of the door, before unzipping his jeans and pulling them down his legs.

_ Fuck _ . Yeah, he’s really . . . really hard. He’s practically shaking from it, almost wants to pull on those thigh highs again and look at the way they clung to his legs so perfectly, wants that collar back around his neck-  _ Jesus, all of them- god, never would’ve done this before _ \- is all he can think before he’s sliding a hand into his boxers and gripping himself tightly, hiding a moan between bitten lips, leaning against the wall as he tries to keep his breaths gentle, even as his grip tightens and he jerks himself quickly.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” comes out of his lips, soft, hardly noticeable, he hopes. But Anakin  _ has _ to goddamn notice . . . he knows, he’s certain, and Miroslav shuts his eyes and lets out a shaky breath as he imagines what Sylvain would say, seeing him like that, or what Blake would do to them if he saw him and Anakin like this-

There's the sound of a breathy chuckle from the stall next to him, before fingers are sliding through the Crack in the door to try and tug away the lock, and Anakin is sliding into the stall behind Miroslav, fingers gently stroking his back as Miroslav half jumps, a flustered mess with cheeks bright red, eyes wide and lips parted. And all Anakin can say is “So  _ naughty,  _ Miroslav…” 

And he's letting a tattooed hand trail down to the bulge in Miroslav’s boxers, experimentally stroking the hardened length through the fabric, gazing down into the older man’s icy eyes with some fashion of pure enjoyment, leaning in to press lips against his ear and tug on it with teeth. Anakin is sure his own cheeks are red, embarrassed at the notion of trying to... _ do this  _ with Miroslav, nervous of being hurt, half afraid of continuing…

But Miroslav is  _ so goddamn cute.  _ And so, adjusting the dress lightly on his hips, he leans back and presses his back against the door, hips awkwardly pushing backwards against it for a second before he finds the strength to drop to his knees, hurriedly sliding Miroslav’s boxers off of his trim legs with a soft smile.

“I'm the only one allowed to be so naughty, Miroslav. You're the  _ good  _ one, remember? Little submissive slave? What would Sylvain do if he caught you touching yourself in a public restroom?” and then he’s pushing ginger locks out of his eyes and leaning forward to press a kiss to one of Miroslav’s thighs softly. “You seem tense…? Shh… let me help you out. It's what friends do, right? Just be a good boy and stay quiet.”

Miroslav’s bracing himself against the wall behind Anakin, forearms pressed to the door with hands pressed into fists as Anakin starts kissing him, soft against his legs, hips- the moment he’s touching his lips to his cock, Miroslav’s gasping softly, trying to keep himself quiet even while he reaches down with one hand and weaves fingers through Anakin’s hair.

“ _ Oh god, Anakin _ ,” comes out in a breathy gasp, only to turn into a softer moan as Anakin leans in and takes him into his mouth. Miroslav’s forehead hits the back of the door; he’s gripping onto Anakin for dear life, probably pulling some hairs out, but . . .  _ god _ , it’s so good, needs it so badly, even as Anakin’s taking him in deeper and humming around his cock - he can hardly take it, can’t resist the shuddering moan that parts from his lips.

“F-Fuck, Anakin, I-I-  _ Jesus _ , wh-what’s Master going to say-?” he whispers, only to cut off with a louder moan. It echos around the restroom, even in the stall, and he’s biting on his wrist to silence himself, shaking as he looks down and watches Anakin as the other reaches down and fumbles around with his puddle of jeans . . . pulls out his phone. He can see him quick-dialing somebody and he can only  _ moan _ , head tilted back as his eyes shut and he just fucking  _ knows _ . . .

_ The fuck are you doing?  _ Anakin has to question himself, covering the front of the phone with his hand when it finally stops ringing, trying to remove the fear that people can somehow see what's going on right then… feeling Miroslav tense up, thighs shaking and pressing tight against the side of his head… it's hot, somehow, almost too hot… enough that Anakin might even feel a little aroused, no matter how much he curses himself for it, tells himself not to…

And then Miroslav’s tensing up with loud, heaving breaths, shuddering moans passing through his pursed lips as there's a chuckle over the phone and a soft “ _ Miroslav… such a naughty little thing today, aren't you?” _ And then Sylvain seems to give a harsh sigh, as Anakin takes Miroslav’s length deeper into his throat, wrapping lips tight around him and cheeks caving in, tongue trailing lines of saliva along the shaft...

“Mmm… phh- nn,” Anakin manages to moan, vibrations running through Miroslav’s skin as he thrust himself against Anakin’s face roughly, forcing his thick girth against the younger man’s uvula until Anakin gave a low hum, teeth teasing the underside of his length as he pulled back, feeling the head tense up more, Miroslav’s hands pulling at his hair so roughly as cum finally spilled into his mouth, slick and wet.. 

“Fuck, you're hot like this,” Anakin manages to breathe,swallowing roughly. “Desperate as fuck, but hot. Shit, Miroslav…”

He’s shaking so badly when he finally comes, tearing at Anakin’s hair even for as gentle as he’s trying to be - but it’s so hot,  _ so hot _ , Miroslav can hardly stand it. He’s collapsing to his knees, leaning against Anakin as he trembles; he can hardly hear the long sighs over the phone, the hums of satisfaction, and he has to hide his face in Anakin’s shoulder to hide his own little moans, knowing that his Master was so pleased with him, that he was thinking about him, could even be  _ touching himself _ from the noises he made . . .

Miroslav’s bracing his forehead against Anakin’s collar as he finally pushes a weak “ _ Master _ ,” past his lips, only rewarded by a stronger hum over the line. He can barely think to pick up the phone in trembling fingers, rub the long side with his fingertips as he gasps out “M-Master, was I- am I good slave for you? Nngh, knowing you could hear-  _ god _ it was so good, loved letting him swallow down my cum like that . . . a-am I going to get punished for this? T-Tried to keep so quiet, enjoyed it so much . . .” he stops, and finally turns back to Anakin, nuzzling his neck and slouching against him.

“W-We should get cleaned up,” he gasps with an arm curled around Anakin’s waist. “M’sorry, didn’t want to make you nervous, just-  _ ahh _ , needed it, felt so  _ good _ , Ana.”

“ _ You’ve been such a disobedient slave, Miroslav. Is it that difficult to hold yourself back while you're in public? Still, the thought of you trying to get off in a public restroom…” _ there's a chuckle, breathless. “ _ Fuck, Miroslav. Can't wait for you to get home… see how red you are. I'm sure it wasn't too big of a problem for Anakin to help you out… he really is good with his mouth.”  _ Sylvain’s smile is practically audible when he says, “ _ See you at home, my dear pet.” _

There's a click and Anakin’s half trembling, barely able to focus on reaching down to pick his phone up again, too focused on the arm around his waist, pulling him closer with fingers curled around a pale side, his breath stopping at the feeling. It feels…  _ nice.  _ So nice, and he wants more… wants to be held and told how good he is…

_ That can wait till later,  _ Anakin tries to tell himself, hands grabbing hold of Miroslav’s sweater as the twenty two year old tries to steady his own breath, relax his body that's still on edge, the feeling of his own half-hard length poking his thigh too unnerving to really describe. All it does is make him quiver again, looking down at Miroslav nervously with a soft “um… i-is that… was that okay? Or… shit… sorry.”

“That was fucking  _ amazing _ ,” Miroslav sighs out with a shudder. “ _ Fuck _ , I needed that . . . needed it so bad . . .” he tucks his head against Anakin’s shoulder again with his eyes shut. He wants to talk to him - ask him if he wants him to do the same, if Miroslav can get him off, too, but . . . but they’re running out of time.  _ God _ , he’s so dizzy too, the medication and the orgasm are clouding up his head, and . . . Miroslav just pushes himself up and kisses his cheek. “Um . . . l-let me make it up to you sometime, okay? I’m just-  _ fuck _ . Really dizzy now. M’sorry, Anakin . . . feel bad now . . .”

There’s a shush, and Miroslav just tries to relax a little more, catch his bearings . . . he’s still half-naked, still bare, and he finally pulls himself to his feet and helps Anakin up, before finally grabbing the skirt from the doorhook and pulling it over his slender hip. He does up the hooks at the waist, looking over himself . . . finally leans down to pick up his jeans and his phone before looking over at Anakin. “D-Does it look okay?” he asks, feeling like he’s only blushing more. “Isn’t my sort of thing, but at least if it looks d-decent . . .”

“Yeah… yeah, it looks nice… I… r-really suits your frame, y’know?” Anakin manages to force out, shutting his eyes and turning his head as he tries to steady his own, shuddering breath, make sure the tears aren't prominent on his face. The thought that… that Sylvain had heard that, that Miroslav had enjoyed it so much, that  _ he wanted it…  _ almost makes Anakin feel sick. Just… he didn't know why.  _ Sex always makes things worse these days. _

He's pulling himself up from the floor, looking over Miroslav as the older man fastens the collar around his neck with a half-scoff, offering as much of a smile as he can muster for the time being. “Should just go… go to the tea place and grab the mugs. Can come back tomorrow, maybe ask Alex if I can bring Izu to get her some gifts…” he bit his lip, roughly suckling on the now-bloody skin. “You look amazing, like holy fuck. We'll have to take pictures or.something… I-I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Hey . . .” Miroslav stops him before he can go. He’s . . . he’s not imagining them, he thinks. The tears that Anakin’s trying to hide. He looks so fragile like this, half-dolled up and quivering, his lips so red . . . and dammit, this was what Miroslav had brought him here to prevent. He’s tugging him back, and quickly wrapping him up in a hug.

“It’s okay, okay?” he pauses. “I’ll make sure that Sylvain doesn’t have that call saved to his phone. I doubt he’d do anything with it anyway, but just to put you at ease. And I’ll call my bro’s hacker boyfriend when we get home- assuming I’m allowed that much time,” he adds nervously. “Still, I want you to be okay. Talk to me, okay? Let me know how I can help you.”

“Just… I-I…” Anakin pulled in a breath, covering his eyes with a hand to try and brush the fat drops away from the bloodshot corners. He's shaking his head, pulling his jacket off the hook to wrap it around his tiny, trembling shoulders, almost humiliated at how easily he's crying. He knows it isn't Miroslav - isn't any of them, just fucking him and it makes it all so much worse…

“I… I don't really… like sex.” He manages to admit, finally, looking away. “I like making people feel good. Physically. Because I'm good at it. But I don't… like  _ sex. _ Not really.” And he's focusing on the floor again and turning away, just trying to clear his face from any of the worry on it. But his hands are finding Miroslav’s when he turns around, and offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I just… wanted to help. Um… I'd really like to just be held and cuddled and shit by somebody, but that can wait a bit. Just… skin is nice. Contact. You know.”

“I-  _ shit _ , really?” Miroslav’s eyes go wide as he pulls Anakin to his body and gives him a crushing hug. “Fuck, why didn’t you say so? I didn’t mean to- god  _ damn _ , I’m sorry, you didn’t have to do that-”

“It’s okay! I wanted to, Miroslav. I wanted to. For you. Because it makes you feel good.” and then he's giving him a smile again and just shaking his head. “Like, with  _ me.  _ I… I just… I have an erection and it's seriously frustrating me because… hard to ignore, I guess. I don't like my body responding like that. I just… you don't have to make anything up to me or whatever. I really don't want anything.”

“I guess that I understand . . . just . . .” Miroslav’s still a little surprised. Well, not a ton - with Anakin’s history, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was just entirely repulsed by sex. But to still willingly give . . . well, still. He shakes his head in confusion. “I guess it’s just . . . strange to me. You’re still living with the rest of us, and we’re all BDSM addicts . . . or something like that. What about you? Do you just . . . put up with it? Or what do you get out of it?”

“It… helps me cope I guess. Weirdly. If I'm upset. Or depressed or… I ask someone to punish me. Like… just a little bit of pain or that comforting feeling of someone praising me… it makes me feel better. Like I can deal with it, so…” he's biting his lip and looking away again, fidgeting awkwardly. “I seriously… just… they like sex. I don't know how to tell them I'm not… without losing  _ the rest of it  _ too. Besides, you guys like it… it's fine. I can deal with it if it makes you happy.”

“You should talk to Blake . . . he’s not the kind to judge, right? He’s absolutely enamoured with you; if you talked to him about it, I’m certain he’d understand. And anyways . . . I sort of understand. BDSM, it’s more fulfilling than just sex or arousal . . . just . . .”

He sighs. Miroslav’s lowering himself to the floor again, sitting on it in his (Anakin’s) new skirt, stretching out his legs as he thinks of how to explain. “Just . . .” he shrugs. His voice is so quiet, he’s not sure if Anakin hears him while he sits down at his side. “When Sylvain first tied me up,” he whispers, “I just could feel all of his attention on me, like we were the only two people in the world, nevermind that room. Like . . . like he’d notice anything I did.  _ Anything _ . I could yell or scream or whisper his name and he’d  _ know _ . And he took care of me. And then he helped me relax when it was over.”

He can feel Anakin’s gaze on him. He pulls up his legs and rests his arms on his knees. He continues.

“Thing is . . . I’m a shadow, y’know? Always just treated like a shadow. I know it’s a middle-sibling thing, and Yulia’s just my twin, so that sort of psychology shouldn’t work . . . but . . . I was ignored a lot. I . . . told you before. None of my family noticed my first anxiety attack. No matter what help I needed, they just wouldn’t notice. In the end, I . . .”

He sighs and hides his face between the enclosure of his arms.

“In the end, the only thing they noticed was the bloody razor I’d left in the room after I moved to university.”

The silence hangs in the air all too thickly. Miroslav pulls back and leans his head against the wall. He sighs. Shuts his eyes.

“Sylvain,” he says, weaker now, “He makes me feel like I’m worth being noticed. And he’s distant sometimes, and egotistical too, and sometimes he . . . just seems distant. But that first time? It didn’t even matter the implications. And it’s been like that a few times, too . . . there have been nights where he’s tied me up and I’ve just curled up with him, just like that. Because sometimes the adrenaline isn’t about arousal, it’s just . . .” he hangs his head. “So yeah. I get what you mean. It’s not always about the sex. It’s . . . it’s a lot about security. That, and being able to trust the other person.”

He sighs, and looks back up. Anakin’s eyes are wide - really wide - but Miroslav just sighs and shrugs. “Anyways,” he says. “We should get going. I really wanted to get some mugs and that tea for Acacia and it’s probably nearing dinnertime. Maybe if we get back late enough, we can have a chance to curl up together before Sylvain and Blake find us, right? We could curl up and watch Steven Universe together. I could even spoon you, if you wanted.”

The thought makes the ginger perk up almost immediately, scratching at the side of his tattooed neck with eyes wide, giving Miroslav a genuine look of appreciation as he questions, softly, “You'd really do that for me?” And then he was blinking back tears and wrapping his arms tightly around Miroslav, pulling him against his weakly heaving chest with a kiss placed to his forehead gently.

“If you ever need to talk… I'm here for you. I have scars too… on my neck. I just… I love you, okay?” He’s pushing his face against black hair and trying not to let his voice crack as he stares off past Miroslav’s shoulder, breathing heavily. “Wanna cuddle with you. We can use my pink blanket. It's really soft. A-and just… no talking. Just cuddles and Steven Universe.”

“Absolutely . . . yeah,” Miroslav says quietly. He gives him a weak smile. “W-We could . . . th-that reminds me. I didn’t bring a ton of blankets with me from home. Maybe . . . teacups, tea, and a quilt or something? I guess it’s sort of dumb, but . . .” he closes his eyes and pulls in a breath. He tries to ignore how teary his voice sounds, as he presses his face against Anakin’s neck.

“Just . . . thank you. I’m glad that you’re okay. And I’m glad that you’ve been so cool to me, too. Zucchini.”

* * *

 

 

They’d fallen asleep. He’s certain of it, because they’d started on episode one of the second season, and they were nearly at the end of it when his eyes peer open. Anakin’s completely tucked in his arms, snoozing gently against him with his back to his chest . . . Miroslav sighs and smiles, curling into him a little more, kissing the top of his head . . . shutting his eyes as he hears his soft breaths and the hum of the TV in the background.

There’s a shadow over his vision. A soft hand on his head. And Miroslav feels silly, but he gives a little whine and hides his face in Anakin’s hair. “Gimme five,” he mumbles, only for the hand to tighten in his hair, pulling him up as he finally peers open his eyes and whispers a soft, “ _ Master _ . I was sleeping. Just . . . five minutes,” He sighs as Sylvain lets go of his hair and just softly pats his head, and he feels the couch dip as Sylvain seemingly sits next to him. Just the thought makes Miroslav shiver, fully aware of how exposed he is, the blanket having fallen to the floor; “d-don’t judge the skirt,” he mumbles. “Ana dragged me into it. You should’ve seen the looks on their faces, we were so cute.”

“Remind me to thank Anakin when he wakes up,” Sylvain is replying with a half-smirk playing on his dark features, tangling fingers in Miroslav’s messy dark hair, appreciatively toying with the hem of the skirt. “It looks surprisingly cute on you. I didn't know if you'd enjoy the look or not.” Miroslav seems to redden, eyes slipping shut as he presses his face against Anakin’s shoulder again with a tiny breath of a groan.

It gives time for Sylvain to glance over the two of them, huddled up against each other on the couch, a well-loved pink blanket having half fallen to the floor. Sylvain reaches down to pick it up, toss it over their forms again as his hand caresses Miroslav’s cheek, pulls dark hair out of his face and presses a kiss against the smooth skin of his cheek. Anakin shifts, a tiny whimper leaving his lips as he rolls over, tugging the blanket closer and letting his hand grab for Miroslav’s shirt.

“Cute,” Sylvain says, a rueful smile setting on his lips as he rubs Miroslav’s tense shoulder, watches his expressive eyes blink up at him softly. “You're both sweet like this. Do you need another blanket?”

“Nnn . . . s’fine. Warm,” is all he says before pressing his face into Anakin’s shoulder again with a sigh. “Long day. Anakin and I went out just t-to chill. Talked about a lot of stu- oh. Oh!” he bolts up with wide eyes, nearly knocking Anakin to the floor. He’s carefully to pull him back to him before reaching over and grabbing the phone from the side table and checking it to see-

_ Groan _ . He’d missed a call. Miroslav puts a finger to his lips -  _ shh, Sylvain, I got this _ \- and presses the call back button, putting the phone to his ear quickly.

The phone picks up on the first ring. “Hola _. Miroslav? _ ”

He sighs. “Darien. Hey, hey. How are you doing?”

“Estoy bien por el momento.  _ You sound tired. Long day _ , hermano?”

“You could say that, yeah. Hey, listen,” Miroslav sits up a little more. Rests a hand on Anakin’s head. “Do you have some free time this week? A few hours or so? My friend, he needs some help. There’s this video-”

“ _ Chase gave me the details. Sounds pretty nasty, but it should be a simple job - free for you, of course. I can meet Wednesday, around four. That alright? _ ”

“That’s fucking awesome. I’ll text you the address,” Miroslav sighs. “Thank you, man. This means a lot to him.”

“ _ No problem. I’ll see you then. _ ”

“Bye.”

He hangs up with a relieved sigh before tossing his phone onto the coffee table. (Actually, he misses - it lands on the carpet instead. Eh, close enough). He lies back down, this time pulling Sylvain closer to rest his head on his master’s lap with a sigh. Miroslav pulls Anakin closer too, presses him against his chest. “Okay,” he mutters. “That’s one task down. Nnn. Sorry if the new cups are a weird aesthetic. Anakin and I have different tastes in china it seems, but they’re still pretty cool.”

“Don't think anyone else will really care,” Sylvain breathed softly, glancing over Miroslav’s face as he let his head rest gently in his lap, the younger’s face pressed against his thigh, halfway to nuzzling into the heavy warmth found against his body. “Kid has weird taste when it comes to personal belongings, though,” Sylvain chuckles, pressing his hand against Anakin’s cheek quickly. “Was even worse in college. He was the definition of goth.” 

A tiny sparkle seemed to play in Sylvain’s eye at the memory, giving another kiss to Miroslav’s face as he looked across the blanket. “Never would've imagined he'd own a pink blanket, though. But hey… he's always been more of a private person. Kind of like you.” The hint is clear in his voice as he strokes Miroslav’s cheek with a thumb, waits for the look of nervousness to show on his face before hushing him again softly. “I'm here if you need me, babe.”

“What do you mean ‘private’...?” he asks. He’s not entirely sure what Sylvain means; if it’s a reference to earlier in the day, then sure, but it seemed . . . deeper than that. Miroslav isn’t sure; he just sighs and presses his cheek against his leg. He’s so tired after such a long day . . . hasn’t eaten, just wants to sleep. He’s sure somebody will force-feed him later, but right now he just wants to lie here, curled up with Anakin and Sylvain, just peaceful and soft enough to let other matters go.

“Mm . . . you doing okay?” he asks in a daze. He’s curling closer, keeping Anakin tight against him and Sylvain so close he can feel every shift of his body. Miroslav sighs. “S’been a long week . . . not over yet . . . alright? Good? Mmph,” he sighs. “Miss you, Master . . . headspaces aren’t matching up like they should. Just- wanna cuddle. Be tied up. Just . . . just have your attention on me, y’know?” he sighs. “Missed you. Lots of busy stuff today. Lots of just . . . memories. M’sorry Master.”

He can feel Miroslav’s heavy breathing, the weight of his head against the rising and falling of his own abdomen as he half cradles the man’s skull in his lap, holding tightly to him as though he could somehow ease the tension in his voice or his rigid body. Miroslav seems to be trying to relax, but he's still so hot, muscles so tight as though he's focused on an internal struggle he can't share, even now. It's enough that Sylvain doesn't want to leave him… at least not for awhile.

He's messing with his hair, brushing through the tangles in the black locks and teasing over his chest with long, light fingers that only pause for a few seconds before his hand wraps around Miroslav’s chest, near Anakin’s head, as he pulls his lover closer, holds him tighter. “Just a couple more days and everything will be back to normal… less tension, new memories…” he trails off, sighing. “Was the blow job as good as it sounded?”

Miroslav lets out a shaky breath at the reminder, squeezing his legs together and curling up between Anakin next to him and Sylvain holding onto him. “S’good . . . really really good . . . b-bought the thigh highs myself. A-And the collar. A-And . . .” he hides his face as he blushes. “Mmph. S-Some sort of bracelet, but it’s really good as handcuffs. Just felt really good in them . . . should’ve sent you a picture when I was in the changing room, it was so fucking good . . . I was so turned on, Master, I really wanted you there to touch me while I wore them . . .”

Jesus. He’s already getting hard just from talking about it. He’s pressing his face against Sylvain’s thigh as he whimpers; at this point he’s on his stomach, hiding his face in his leg, one arm thrown over Anakin to keep him close as his legs kick a little against the cushions. Sylvain was such a tease; Miroslav bites his lip before deciding to bite something else, digging his teeth against Sylvain’s jeans as he mouthed against his thigh. “Missed you,” is all he repeats. “Want you to take care of me, Master.”

“I missed you too,” is the sole response, Sylvain’s light, teasing touches gracing the side of Miroslav’s arms, rubbing circles into the hot flesh as he holds tighter to Miroslav tiny form, clutching him so closely it's difficult to see where Miroslav ends and he begins. He's pressing feathery kisses along his brow, his cheeks, down his face as he holds him still, letting the gentleness continue as he rocks Miroslav head slightly.

“Can't wait to see you dressed up for me… you'll look so cute in a collar, like a good little pet. So good for your master, Miroslav,” Sylvain teases, turning his head to gaze toward the window and out into the dark night in the city. He's rubbing Miroslav’s temples quickly, trying to relax him more, pleased with the fingers curling in his shirt, clinging to him tightly. “Love you, you know. So sweet.”

There’s a soft whine trapped in the back of his throat, making him squirm from the attention; he’s gasping and reaching over to tangle fingers in Sylvain’s shirt, curl up against him, wanting him to continue, to- to give him attention, comfort, all of it. It’s so good - never mind the goddamn arousal or any of it, just . . . to be so vulnerable, and to still be treated like this, it’s so . . . it’s so nice. It’s perfect and he likes it so much and he just wants more of it, wants to be held closer, tighter, know that Sylvain’s there with him-

“ _ Master _ ,” finally passes his lips in a whisper, as he tries to let himself go lax against him. He can hear footsteps in the background, and he can feel the shifting body next to him - he can barely turn over enough to see Anakin sitting up, clutching the blanket to his chest, and Blake, watching from the entrance to the hallway. He finds himself trying to speak again, only for Sylvain to pat his head, hold him closer . . . make him push little soft sounds through his lips as he reaches out and takes Anakin’s hand.

“Hey,” is all he squeaks out to them, sighing as his weight sinks against the couch, as his eyes slip shut and he just tries to breathe, even tugs at Sylvain’s hand to keep him focused on  _ him _ . . .

He isn't going to focus on anyone else. It's obvious that's what Miroslav is thinking, clinging tightly to him and tugging on his hand, at his clothes, trying to make Sylvain focus on him even in the midst of everything that's going on… hell, it's almost cute. And Sylvain’s obliging him, at least a bit, brushing through black hair with calloused fingers and letting kisses lay across his cheeks and collar.

“You're so perfect, babe. Such a good boy, so good for your master… I love it when you're so affectionate with me, need me so much…” he's half whispering the words to Miroslav, holding onto his head and massaging his scalp as his thumbs dig into his temples and try to calm the tension flooding the younger man's body. And then he’s sliding away slightly and adjusting his position, half pulling Miroslav into his arms.

Anakin gives a startled moan, pulling away and looking over to Blake, before trying to rest his head on Miroslav’s body again, arms tense as they cling to him so tightly, pale, ink-stained legs visible as the blanket slides off again, revealing the short, black and white dress clinging to his skin. He's almost too childish, with the manner in which he tries to rest against him, cheeks flushed red. “Miro… need my buddy…”

He nearly gasps when Sylvain pulls him closer, causing a gasp of broken words to fall out of his mouth as he grabs at his shirt, buries his face into his shoulder. He’s pulling in harsh breaths as he squirms against him; he can feel Anakin at his legs, trying to hold onto him, and god, it just reminds him of the black cotton against his legs and he’s struggling to keep a moan from coming out. He’s not even sure- Miroslav’s losing the sense of the room, almost, doesn’t know where Blake went or where Anakin is, besides the grapple for his legs . . . no. It’s Sylvain, and his heartbeat, and the distance music playing from the TV, and the skirt against his legs and the collar resting against his throat . . .

Miroslav gasps and squirms, biting down on his lower lip before finally forcing out, “Th-The cuffs. F-From my bag, the- please, Master, just wanna lie with you like this, just want-” he moans again as Anakin crawls up his body and collapses in his lap. “J-Just- wanna feel good,” he finally gasps out. “Felt so nice, Master, with the leather around my wrists . . . j-just . . . a-are you going to punish me tonight? For being so- so filthy, Master? I . . .”

"No punishment tonight..." a pause, with a low chuckle in such a rich tone it almost seems to make Miroslav go even more lax in the older man's grasp, the needy, stammered words parting from his lips with no inflection besides sheer desperation. And then Sylvain is holding the pink cuffs in his hand, a hum of appreciation parting from him as he ruffles through his lover's hair and kisses his lips again, teasing over lips with his tongue and sliding it into his hot cavern teasingly. "Sometimes the best punishment is no punishment at all... no reward either." 

He's toying with the cuffs and smiling a devilish little grin as he just hums and pulls away slightly, holding the cuffs over his head. "Since when is everyone getting a thing for pink?" He laughs. "Must be a phase." Fingers are teasing the underside of Miroslav's chin and trying to gain a further reaction than the smear of red on his face. But Sylvain is just sighing and kissing him again with a soft, "You are so precious. Even when you're trying to be too naughty for your own good."

“ _ Master, don’t tease me _ ,” he whines as he falls against his chest. Miroslav can hardly pull in a steady breath with the way he’s shaking. And Sylvain is just  _ playing with him _ , holding the cuffs away, with those little purred words sinking into his brain. It’s so frustrating, erotic, and it’s creating a harsh pressure around his chest that’s making it hard to think, much less breathe-

He finally lets out a cry as he tries to reach up, tries to take the cuffs back, his body pressed flush to his master’s as he tries to get them back. He needs this- needs the comfort of leather around his wrists, the warmth of his master’s body, the security of being held so preciously-

“Please,” he finally spits out as he squirms against him, nearly ruts with his hips and his half-hard erection. “ _ Please _ ,” he finally stammers again as he hides his face in his shoulder, “ _ Give it to me, please, wanna be so good for you Master, please _ -”

"Nobody will be giving anything to you, Miroslav," Sylvain says sharply, tossing the cuffs a short distance away as he pushes the younger man down, tries to keep him from squirming so much. "You need to learn some manners. Fucking in a public restroom? So loud that it sounds like you were practically screaming over the phone? And now you're trying to thrust yourself against me while your friend is curled up in your lap?"

"Can attest... nnn, stop it Miro. I don't want fucking Battle of the Bulge in my face when I'm trying to sleep. Nor do I want to hear what I just heard." Anakin groans, rolling over so his back is turned to Miroslav. "I blame Sylvain."

"Now, now. I haven't done a thing-"

"You were teasing him and now my pillow is gone."

"Objection. He brought this upon himself."

Blake's voice sounds suddenly,  a foot tapping against the ground in annoyance ad he says, "Come on. Let's be adults here. We all need to stop disrupting the cuddle puddle."

And then he was flopping down on top of Miroslav, Anakin and Sylvain, the latter of whom groaned in annoyance.

"I'm too old for this shit."

"Take it, old man. Miroslav, quit pushing your erection into my hip."

The change of events almost snaps him out of his headspace - almost. His breaths are evening out now, with Sylvain having pushed him down like he did, but . . . now he’s being crushed. He’s not sure where everybody is, but Sylvain’s atop him, Anakin’s clinging to his side, and now Blake’s octopus-spread on top of them all. He lets out a wheeze of a gasp, and another little whine, smaller now.

“S’mean,” he mutters as he lies back and shuts his eyes. “Nn, I looked so pretty, Master . . . you should have seen it. Just leggings, boxers, collar . . . and those  _ cuffs _ ,” he squirms a little at the thought before giving in with a sigh as he teases one arm between Sylvain’s back and Blake’s chest. “‘Sides,” he notes quietly, “Anakin’s the one who called you. W-Was trying to be subtle at first, but-  _ god _ . So nice, the way he swallowed my cum-”

Anakin gives a little noise of annoyance next to him, and Miroslav’s trying to pull his head into a better state of mind, enough to toss his arm around Anakin again and pull him closer. “Also,” he points out, “Apparently we are vegetables. Zucchini. S’pparently something about sexless and romanceless. I dunno if that even applies anymore.”

"He did sound like he was enjoying it quite a bit," Sylvain teased, flicking Anakin's nose, entirely amused when the redhead scrunched it up and pushed his head back into Miroslav's side.

"I swallow better than a fucking porn star, Sylvain. Nothing personal if you don't match up with my skills."

"Mouthy thing, aren't you?" Sylvain asked. "Anyway, the vegetable thing..."

"It's an Internet thing," Blake muses, kissing Miroslav's cheek, then Sylvain's chest, before pushing his face into Anakin's neck and biting at the skin. "You're such a cute thing for everyone these days. Don't run off with your cucumber friend."

"Zucchini," Anakin corrects.

"Same diff."

Sylvain gives a groan, running hands through his lover's hair as his breathing gets louder. "Seriously. I'm trapped under a pile of kids. Get off."

"I think this arrangement would be better if we all got on the floor and just spooned each other."

"... let's move."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because characters bonding. is always. the best thing.
> 
> once again, sorry for the breaks between updates. we have this written up, just... ugh, college stuff and work stuff and relationship/family/friends stuff has been shitting on all of us. it's like jumping out of a plane and realizing too late you forgot your goddamn parachute. *rolls eyes*  
> ~ klisma


End file.
